Moving Forward
by Awahili
Summary: Love is like a friendship caught on fire. In the beginning a flame, very pretty, often hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. As love grows older, hearts mature and love becomes as coals, deep-burning and unquenchable. / Hawkeye and Margaret keep finding each other, and it was only a matter of time. A look at what might have been from Comrades in Arms and on.
1. Comrades in Arms

So I found this story on my hard drive, and I wondered why I never posted it. It's an idea I had a while back (obviously), sort of an AU of Hawkeye and Margaret's relationship. Of all the characters on the show, their dynamic is the most intriguing. It's real, and I think that's why so many of us root for them. So this picks up right where _Comrades in Arms_ leaves off, just as Margaret reads her "Dear Hank" letter to Hawkeye and will continue to the end of the series (and maybe beyond) if there's interest.

Anything you recognize doesn't belong to me.

* * *

Hawkeye listened as Margaret poured her feelings out to him through the letter. They'd been in this hell hole for almost two years now, and he marveled at just how far they'd come from the biting animosity they'd had for each other. As she spoke, he recalled that night vividly; her warm body in his arms, her soft lips caressing his, her hands gentle but demanding as they sought comfort from each other. He'd just told her that their differences were too vast, and maybe he was right. But listening to her talk about how much that night had meant to her, Hawkeye began to realize that maybe they could have something; something wholly unconventional but completely them.

"You've helped me to grow a little. Thank you Hank." She tucked her letter away and looked up at him expectantly.

"Thank you, Darlene," he replied, watching her face soften as she smiled. But he also saw the hurt in her eyes at the thought of her husband, the man who was supposed to love her, and just why she was sending the letter in the first place. Without thinking, he leaned across the space between them and kissed her. He didn't press, and he was gone before she even had a chance to respond, but the look in her eyes when he pulled back justified his actions. She wasn't mad at him, nor was she yearning for more. He conveyed with his eyes what he couldn't with his words; that he was always there for her whenever she needed him. She smiled her thanks as her bright eyes shined with tears.

Wordlessly, he stood and walked out the door. Before he closed it behind him, their eyes locked again and he saw an indefinable emotion ghost across her features. But just as quickly it was gone and the door hid her from view. As he walked back to the Swamp, he tried to tell himself that was the end of it; that they'd left anything more than friendship in that abandoned hut. But somehow Hawkeye knew that his life would probably be forever entwined with hers as long as they were here.

The next morning Hawkeye hobbled out of bed and winced at the throbbing in his leg. It was healing just fine, but the muscles knitting back together were stiffest in the morning. He stretched it a little before tossing a pillow across the room.

"Hey Beej, rise and shine."

"Don't wanna," came the muffled reply, along with his pillow thrown back at him. Charles had apparently already gotten up and out for the day, so Hawkeye grabbed a tin cup and a spoon and began pounding them together.

"Hey, you're not avoiding more of this lousy war than me," Hawkeye argued. "Besides, Potter wants us all in the mess this morning for our weekly talking to."

"Tell him I'm writing myself a doctor's note to miss class."

Hawkeye sighed and set the utensils down. "You leave me no choice but to resort to drastic measures." The threat fell on deaf ears, so Hawkeye limped over and grabbed the sheets. With one clean yank BJ was uncovered, and as Hawkeye danced outside with his blankets he had no choice but to jump up and try to retaliate.

"Give them back!" He screamed, but Hawkeye just laughed and darted back a little more. BJ sighed and resigned himself to dressing for the day. Seeing his victory, Hawkeye returned to the Swamp, earning him a glare and a sharp jab as he returned his bunkmate's blankets. BJ didn't say anything to him as they got ready, but as they made their way to the mess tent he inquired about Hawkeye's leg.

"It's fine, just aches a bit in the mornings. A few more days and it'll be good as new." He opened the door for his friend and BJ grimaced at the sight of this morning's breakfast.

"Oh great, just what the doctor didn't order." BJ shook his head and grabbed a mug, bypassing the food entirely. Hawkeye took one look at the food and clenched his teeth. He was getting really tired of eating food that probably wouldn't even pass Red Cross standards. Igor held out a spoonful of some yellow mash, but Hawkeye held up his hands.

"No thanks, I didn't get my breakfast booster shot yet." He, too, grabbed a mug and filled it with the brown goop they called coffee before joining Charles, Margaret, and BJ at the far table. BJ still looked mostly asleep and Charles was grilling Margaret on the conditions at the 8063rd. Without missing a beat in her conversation, she passed the sugar bowl toward Hawkeye. He thanked her with a grunt and added a few spoonfuls to make it more appetizing.

"Good news folks," Potter entered with his mug full and sat next to Charles. "The Swedish MASH at Cho Wan just heard about our arterial transplants."

"I don't think I wanna hear the rest," BJ warned.

"You guessed it," Potter answered, "they want a demonstration. I think Pierce and Houlihan have done their duty; that leaves one of you." Hawkeye zoned out for a minute as he glanced at Margaret from the corner of his eye. Usually she was the first to jump up and volunteer, but he guessed even the tough-as-nails Major needed a break every now and then.

As Charles refused to go, citing their eventful journey, Margaret caught his eye. They listened to Winchester's words, how he called their entire trip a "disaster," and Hawkeye couldn't stop the small smile that crept along his face. They'd agreed – though not verbally – that whatever it was that was between them was just that: between them. There was no need to involve anyone else. He berated himself for letting anything slip, but for a brief moment he saw a matching smile on her face. Unfortunately, so did Charles.

After several reassurances that no one was in fact smiling, the officers split for the day. BJ was too nice to say anything about it, and Hawkeye certainly wasn't going to bring it up. But when Margaret excused herself from their company, Hawkeye could see Charles' mind whirling with questions. Hoping to avoid the third degree, Hawkeye stood up quickly.

"I think I'll head over to post-op and see how you've fared without me." He moved as fast as his injured leg would allow him, and he plastered an infectious smile on his face as he opened the doors.

* * *

Consider this a prologue, of sorts. I'm not going to deal with every episode, just the important ones in the Hawkeye/Margaret relationship. Please review and let me know how it is, and if there's any interest for more. Ta.

Next up: "What's Up, Doc?"


	2. What's Up Doc?

Well, I thought I'd go ahead and post the next chapter. This one's a bit longer and definitely more AU than the last. Things are going to start skewing a bit more as we go along, but it's not drastic or sudden. The best changes are gradual, and that's how friendships become more.

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed already.

* * *

"Just once, I'd like them to call ahead for reservations." Hawkeye bemoaned the deluge of wounded that were arriving in the compound as he pulled on his lab coat. BJ smiled grimly and slapped him on the back before following a few of the nurses toward the incoming jeeps. Hawkeye took the bus and began checking and sorting wounded according to their priority. Just as he was stepping out, a bounding body crashed into him. He reached his hands out and steadied Margaret before she toppled to the ground.

"Watch it!" she reprimanded, pushing past him onto the bus to begin overseeing its evacuation. Hawkeye watched her for a second longer, then shook his head. It seemed "Major Houlihan" was in full-tilt mode, and he'd learned from experience that a joke would not only fall flat but probably earn him a tongue-lashing. Then again, a tongue-lashing from her was an entertaining image by itself. With that amusing thought in his head, he jogged to pre-op and began scrubbing down.

Thirty-three patients later, Hawkeye stumbled into the changing room. It had been a relatively good session, despite the Major's mood. He hadn't lost a patient and had even offered a few comforting words to Nurse Bell after Margaret had ruined her day. Hawkeye found himself thinking about the head nurse quite a bit since their adventures into the wilds of Korea. The fact that she'd neither slapped him nor invited him back after he'd kissed her completely dumbfounded him, and he wondered what – if anything – she was thinking.

Seeing the object of his thoughts across the room struggling to get out of her surgical gown, he stretched lazily and sauntered over to offer his assistance. He was her friend – probably her only friend due to her mood lately – and he promised himself to discover what was bothering her.

An hour later, he was regretting his perseverance. When Margaret had confided in him about her possible condition, his initial reaction had been of joy. He loved children and knew what happiness they could bring to a family. Then he remembered just who the child's father was and his smile disappeared. Margaret and Donald weren't on the best of terms at the moment, and a child would probably only put a strain on that, furthering Margaret's already sour mood at possibly being kicked out of the Army.

He'd kept it light-hearted around her, hoping some good cheer would rub off for a little while at least. But in the safety and privacy of the Swamp, Hawkeye lay on his bunk thinking about just what it would mean if she were pregnant. She'd be out of the Army for sure, and there was a better than even chance he'd never see her again. He laughed bitterly as he remembered a time not too long ago when that thought wouldn't have bothered him as much as it was now. She'd come to mean a great deal to him in a short time, and he tried to remember exactly when she'd made the switch from grating annoyance to dear friend. It had been gradual, he supposed, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that out of all of his friends here, only BJ and Margaret were in the "close" category.

"Pierce!" a hushed whisper drew his attention outside, and he saw Margaret crouching next to the tent.

"Margaret, what will people think?" he joked, and he saw a fire light in her eyes. If she were able to, he was sure she would have slugged him at that moment. Silently, he thanked the flimsy Army netting that was separating them. It was short lived, however, when she stormed through the Swamp door, and he held up a pillow in front of him for defense.

"Pierce, do you have any idea what that idiotic pygmy of a clerk has done?" Hawkeye dropped the pillow and scowled at her. He might be her friend, and he knew she got testy when she was upset, but that was no reason to call Radar names. She ignored the indignant look in his eyes and plowed ahead. "He let the rabbit go! Now I'll have to go all the way to Seoul and heaven knows who will find out then!" Hawkeye praised and cursed Radar silently. His rabbit was safe, but now Margaret was on a tear.

"I'll go talk to him," he offered. "Maybe he can scrounge up another rabbit. It's a long shot, but I'll try, Margaret." She deflated as she saw the genuine concern in his eyes. Just as quickly it was gone, replaced by the mirthful, sly look she was so used to seeing there. "And while he's at it, maybe he can round up a lewd movie or two."

"Pierce!"

"I'm going, I'm going!" he was pushed out of the Swamp, and only when he was sure she couldn't hear him did he chuckle.

Two hostages and one rabbit hysterectomy later, Hawkeye leaned back in his chair and pronounced her fit to continue duty. He watched as her face morphed from anxiousness to happiness to some other emotion he couldn't define. He knew that despite her tough Army exterior, there was a woman inside who secretly yearned for that American dream; a small house with a white picket fence, a husband who came home at the exact same time every night, and 2.5 kids running around in the yard. Or maybe it was her who came home from work while her husband stayed home, Hawkeye really wasn't sure about the details. But he knew she wanted a family someday, and as he watched her stand up he felt like he should say something.

"Are you happy, Margaret?" She stopped in her tracks and turned back to him with a confused expression on her face.

"Of course I am, Captain, I get to stay in the Army and do my duty." He knew she was feeling something when she used his title these days, so he stood up and took a step toward her.

"Margaret, it's okay to be sad about this. A child is…it's a wonderful thing." He knew he'd struck a nerve when she stepped back from him and clenched her jaw.

"I'm well aware of that," she snapped. "But my husband and I aren't at a point in our marriage where children are a great idea. This is a war zone, if you recall."

"Believe me, you don't have to remind me," Hawkeye was beginning to feel a little agitated himself. Her hostile avoidance routine was wearing thin on him. "But a part of you wanted that test to be positive. I don't know why you can't just admit it."

"This is a pointless conversation," she made to turn around and storm out the door, but he was lightning quick as he reached out and grasped her upper arm lightly. She opened her mouth to reprimand him, but he beat her to it.

"Look me in the eye, Margaret, when you lie to me. Tell me you didn't imagine yourself in a small house in Perfectville, USA watching your husband read to your beautiful daughter, or bounce around the yard with an energetic son. Even if for an instant, you wanted that to be true." Her eyes were glassy now, and Hawkeye knew he was getting through to her. "Even in a war zone, you're allowed to feel and dream and wish for things; hell, it's pretty damn hard _not_ to. But don't think that you're better than the rest of us just because you lock everything away in a neat little box. You'll go crazy holding it all in. You trusted me enough to tell me, to let me be here with you, to perform the tests. Why won't you trust me enough to _talk _to me?"

"If that's all, Captain." And she was gone. He sighed to no one and began cleaning up the lab, careful to dispose of any and all evidence that might point someone in the wrong direction. Twenty minutes later, he decided to join BJ in the Swamp for a nap. As he closed his eyes, however, he had a brief flash of Margaret with a baby on her hip, laughing as she watched a little blonde haired girl run around a yard. Only when the father came into focus did Hawkeye's eyes snap open.

"Uh oh…"

He lay there with his eyes wide open, scared that if he closed them again his mind would assault him with vivid images of a future that would never be; one that he wasn't even sure he wanted. So he looked out into the night sky and began counting stars, still in awe at the sheer number that he could see out here. Crabapple Cove wasn't exactly a big city, so the night sky back home was pretty impressive. But a Korean night was almost aglow with the luminescent orbs dotting the blackness.

Movement drew his attention from the sky to the compound, and he rolled onto his side and half-closed his eyes to watch Margaret's progress from her tent. His heart skipped as she looked in his direction, seemingly checking to see if he was asleep. Hawkeye kept his eyes lidded, observing Margaret in a raw moment when she believed no one was watching. She pulled her robe more tightly around her and – to his surprise – walked over to the wooden lounge chairs outside the Swamp and sat down. Her eyes darted to his form once more, as if ensuring he was asleep, before relaxing her head back.

"Penny for your thoughts," Hawkeye said quietly, and Margaret's head snapped toward him in an instant, her eyes wide and startled. He sat up and slipped his boots on, not bothering to tie them as he joined her outside. Charles was in post-op and BJ was in a deep slumber after a double shift, so Hawkeye didn't feel the least bit conscientious as he reached out and brushed a lock of stray blonde hair away from her face. Margaret, however, flinched and recoiled instinctively, before relaxing once again.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. He grunted in response, hoping she would elaborate as he sat in the other chair. "I shouldn't have snapped at you earlier, especially after all you did to help. I guess I don't deal with the emotional stuff very well." Silence was his response, and she looked sidelong at him to gauge his reaction.

But he'd learned that sometimes silence was the best thing when talking with Margaret, and soon enough she didn't disappoint.

"You were right," she said softly, as if afraid of being overheard. "I did imagine what it would be like to have a real home, with a normal family. But then I realized that I'm in the Army – that my husband is in the Army. Our children are going to be just like I was; always moving, never in the same place long enough to make a friend." Hawkeye reached out and laid a warm hand on her forearm.

"And then I thought about my father," she continued. "You've never met him, but you can guess what he's like. He's regular Army – a retired Colonel – and when I thought about what he would say when I told him I was pregnant…he'd be so disappointed in me." Hawkeye withdrew his hand quickly.

"Disappointed?" there was venom in his voice, and Margaret turned toward him in surprise. Over the years, she'd heard everything from indignant rage to strained frustration in his tone, but the malice he put into that one word made her heart beat faster. He was upset – she could see it in the way his normally icy blue eyes were as dark as storm clouds in the starlight. She opened her mouth to calm him – or at least warn him to be quiet – but he was on an infamous Pierce rant now and nothing could stop him short of an announcement of a cease fire.

"Margaret, when a man's daughter presents him with news of his first grandchild, I expect elation, pride, giddiness, ecstasy, satisfaction, delight, and a thousand synonyms for pure joy. Disappointment is not only not allowed but it's offensive!"

"Oh no, Hawkeye, my father would really –"

"Don't," he cut her off sharply, surprising her even further. "Don't make excuses for him. I know how hard you try day in and day out to please him; you've talked about him only a hundred times and how proud he is that you're not only head nurse here but a Major as well. But don't make an attempt to praise him if the only emotion he could muster up for the announcement of a miracle – and your miracle at that – is _shame_." She was dumbstruck as he brought his tirade to a close, and she glanced around quickly to see if he'd attracted an audience. But BJ snored on obliviously, and it seemed the rest of the camp was either preoccupied or asleep.

"It's ridiculous for you to be this upset over something that never even happened," she tried to reason.

He stared at her for a moment more before standing up and stretching. "You came over here, Margaret."

"I just…I couldn't sleep. And I needed to talk to you." The honesty and raw emotion in her voice stopped his retreat into the Swamp, and he sat back down next to her. His silence was an invitation to continue, and she took a deep breath and prepared to tell him exactly why she was sitting outside his tent at such a late hour.

"This…event got me thinking about the future, after the war is over. Yes, I'd like to have children one day – most women do – but the more I thought about it…" she trailed off, unsure if she should give Hawkeye any ammunition against her.

"What, Margaret?"

It was his tone, not his words, that persuaded her to continue. They'd both changed so much in the past few months. "I started thinking about what kind of father Donald would be to our children. I would have to leave the Army, of course, if and when we ever decided to start a family. But Donald wouldn't – the Army is his life."

"You know, his life is supposed to be you," Hawkeye interjected cynically. She ignored him and continued on, knowing if she stopped now she'd never get it out.

"The more I thought, the more I realized…oh, it's a horrible thing to say." Hawkeye leaned over close, hoping to entice her to at least whisper it to him. "Donald would be a horrible father." Completely shocked, Hawkeye sat back in the chair. Margaret covered her face with a hand and sighed. "I said it wasn't very nice, but that doesn't make it less true. His focus is on his career – and obviously not a family. How can I bring a child into this world knowing that his or her father cares more about his next promotion than their well-being?"

"Margaret, I'm proud of you," he said out of nowhere. He was grinning like a madman, and Margaret wasn't so sure that he hadn't gone off the deep end.

"Have you been listening to anything I've said in the last five minutes?"

"Well, you won't be winning any awards for World's Most Adoring Wife, but at least you're honest enough with yourself to own up to the fact that you married a –"

She interrupted him with a half-hearted glare. "Watch it, Pierce, he's still my husband."

"All I'm saying is there's no reason you and Donald can't be married without children. It's not a law, you know." She glared at him for his attempt at humor, but a small smile betrayed her. "Look, if being in the Army and married to Donald is what makes you happy, then that's that. And if, in the future, a child comes along…well, maybe you're wrong about him." She took a deep breath and searched his eyes for any sign of deceit, but she didn't find any.

"Maybe you're right."

"And listen, if that does happen and he throws a fit, tell him he's on diaper duty for a year." Margaret laughed out loud, and Hawkeye joined her. She reached over and grabbed his hand, squeezing it in gratitude.

"We're quite the pair, aren't we?"

Nah," he joked. "A pair is two of the same card. We're more like Blackjack." She chuckled and canted her head, curious about his analogy. "You know, two cards that are different – sometimes _complete _opposites – but when you get them together? Magic."

Moments later, on her way back to her tent, Margaret realized that Hawkeye's words were probably the most romantic thing any man had ever said to her.

"Uh oh…"

* * *

Next up: "Temporary Duty"


	3. Temporary Duty

In which things become a little more two-sided...

* * *

Margaret read and re-read the letter from Donald more times than she'd care to admit. As she'd expected, he'd called her with some questions after the "Dear Hank" letter she'd sent him. She told him about Darlene and how the letters had gotten mixed up, and after three minutes of listening to him try to offer excuses, she'd told him exactly what he could do with her letters from now on. He'd tried to apologize, but she wasn't listening as she hung up the receiver.

Now, he'd written her a lengthy letter (addressed correctly, this time) explaining who Darlene was and how there was nothing more between them now that he was married to Margaret. He wanted to work on their marriage now, and she was the most important person to him. His words were jaded – Margaret knew what he really thought of her from Darlene's letter – but instead of doing what she should have done, she felt herself wanting to forgive him. She'd had so many failed relationships with the wrong men, and she'd thought that had all changed with Donald. But proving once again that the Houlihan luck was in full swing, it seemed she'd chosen another louse.

She heard an enthusiastic holler from the compound and grimaced. The surgeon trade with the 8063rd had seemed like such a good idea at the time. It would give her a chance to work through whatever it was she and Pierce had been doing these past few weeks since their excursion. He infuriated her to no end most of the time, but there were rare occasions when she saw past the jokes and the smiles and the lewd humor. He cared about her – of that she was sure – but she didn't know just what, if anything, he expected from her. He'd told her that night they'd gotten back that they were too different for anything to ever come of them, but something about the look in his eyes hadn't convinced her that he believed it.

And then he'd kissed her. It wasn't like any kiss she'd ever experience before. Most men who pursued her liked to be aggressive, letting her know exactly what they wanted from her; and most of the time she was happy to oblige. But when Hawkeye kissed her he didn't press her, or even use anything more than his lips. It was chaste, like a kiss on the cheek between friends, but filled with so much more meaning. And she wasn't even going to think about that night outside his tent a week ago.

To top off her week, she'd been reacquainted with an old friend. When she'd found out Lorraine Anderson was the nurse the 8063rd had sent, she was ecstatic. But after a few days she realized that Lorraine was still the open, fun-loving girl she'd known. Margaret had changed so much, she'd been surprised Lorraine had recognized her. They'd fought over it, of course, but they'd reconciled just the night before. Margaret was so grateful to finally have a woman to talk to again, she'd be sad in the morning when Lorraine would have to leave. But, Margaret smiled, she'd left some words of wisdom to mull over.

Dupree hollered again, and she growled quietly. _Even Pierce in his early days was better than this cretin_, she thought as she tucked her letter back into her desk and strode out into the compound. Her jaw dropped when she saw the surgeon riding Sophie bareback. The way BJ and Charles were grinning smugly, Margaret assumed this was part of some cunning plan they'd concocted to keep Dupree from staying for good. She'd heard the rumor that Colonel Potter was going to let the man transfer to the 4077th, and she guessed the two doctors had conspired to ensure their sanity was only assaulted by one crazy surgeon at a time. Hawkeye Pierce was enough for their little camp; they didn't need another lunatic.

The next morning found Margaret sitting in the mess tent with BJ and Charles. She knew her behavior puzzled them; she'd never before invited them for coffee in the middle of the day just because. But Lorraine's words were still ringing in her ears, and it was nice to spend time with people rather than in her lonely tent.

"So, when's Hawk due back?" BJ asked suddenly.

"Haven't you had enough lunacy for one week?" Charles retaliated. "I, for one, am relishing the silence which has been afforded me these few glorious, Pierce-free hours."

"I don't know," Margaret sipped her lukewarm beverage. "With Pierce and Dupree gone, it's awfully quiet." Margaret had a brief flash of what life would have been like here without Pierce's constant humor, pranks, or bouts of insanity. And while it was true she didn't often applaud his methods, his results were astounding. She knew how the war could take a toll on a person, but Pierce's levity and shenanigans often provided just enough of a distraction to keep everyone sane.

Add to that his skill as a surgeon, and Margaret could safely say that Hawkeye was the backbone of the unit; his dedication and perseverance when dealing with patients was probably one of the driving forces behind their phenomenal survival rate. And no one in the camp could deny the professional chemistry between their head nurse and chief surgeon. Their vastly differing styles often resulted in a clashing of heads, but they also complemented each other well. In the operating room, no other team was as flawless, even when they were mad at each other.

But sometime over the course of their time together, he had come to mean something more to her than just a fellow officer. He had become her friend, sometimes despite her efforts to drive him away. In fact, she mused, he was probably the only man who'd ever endured her stubborn and sometimes wrathful attempts to be alone.

"Margaret, you alright?" BJ's kind voice penetrated her thoughts and she shook her head.

"Oh, I'm alright. Just…enjoying the quiet." She glanced out across the compound briefly, then back at her companions. Remembering she'd invited them here to talk, she cleared her throat and tried to think of a subject. "How's Erin?" BJ's face lit up at the mention of his little girl, and Margaret half listened as he regaled them of the child's exploits in California.

Sometime later, when the coffee was too cold to drink and they'd exhausted every topic under the sun, the three of them stood.

"Well this has been absolutely charming, Margaret, but I think I'll retire to the Swamp and relax for a while before Pierce comes back. Adieu." Charles nodded politely and glided off, leaving BJ and Margaret alone in the mess tent.

"Well, I guess Hawk's not due back till this evening, what do you say we go take a stroll through post-op?" He held out his arm for her, and she laughed as she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. As they walked across the compound, BJ detoured her around the Swamp once.

"So, what prompted the sudden chat? Not that I mind, mind you," he added quickly.

"But it's not like me," she agreed. "Honestly, Lorraine gave me a lot to think about, not only in how I view myself but how I want others to view me." It was the simplest answer she could give, and it seemed to satisfy him. Like Pierce, BJ was an open, caring guy. But he also understood something Pierce didn't; when not to pry. He opened the post-op door for her and smiled as she preceded him into the building.

Hours later, she sat alone in her tent. BJ had retired to the Swamp to meet Charles' chess challenge, leaving Margaret to either stay in post-op or go to her tent. She'd come a long way since she'd first arrived in Korea, and she no longer felt like she had to micromanage her nurses the way she used to. She offered a wave to Kellye as she left, earning a surprised smile in return.

It was only minutes later she heard the jeep arrive in the compound. She braced herself for the announcement of wounded, but relaxed when she remembered it was probably just Pierce and Bigalow coming back from the 8063rd. Resisting the urge to rush out and greet them, she grabbed a book off her shelf and opened it to the middle. She was only a little shocked when the knock sounded at her door.

"Come in," she stood up and adjusted her uniform. Nurse Bigalow stepped inside and saluted tiredly.

"Lieutenant Bigalow reporting in, Major."

"At ease," Margaret ordered, secretly pleased that her nurse had followed protocol. "How was the trip?"

If the younger woman was shocked at the question she hid it well. "It was enlightening," Bigalow answered, relaxing her stance. Margaret could see how tired she was and made a mental note to ease up on her duties for the next few days. She was still rather uncomfortable talking to her nurses on a personal level, but she could show them she was thinking about them in other ways.

"How was Dr. Pierce?" she put just enough acid in her voice to dissuade any rumors that would undoubtedly surface after asking such a question.

"Same old Dr. Pierce," Bigalow laughed. "Although I'm afraid the other doctors thought he was dull."

"Dull?" Margaret's eyebrows shot up. "How could anyone find Pierce dull? He runs us into the ground around here trying to keep up with him."

Her nurse answered with a shrug and a half-smile. "Apparently the doctor he was replacing is rather…exuberant."

Margaret rubbed her forehead in frustration, remembering her brief dealings with Dupree. "Annoyingly so. I'm just glad Colonel Potter decided not to let him transfer here. We're full up on crazy."

Bigalow laughed at her commanding officer's joke, and gave Margaret a soft smile. "Permission to speak freely, Major?"

"Go ahead."

"I'm glad you're feeling better. Whatever's been bothering you these last few weeks has taken its toll on all of us."

Margaret felt a pang in her chest, but ignored it. Lorraine's words came back to her, but Margaret pushed them back. Now was not the time or place. "Yes, well, I'll let you get settled back in. Is that all?"

"Yes Ma'am," Bigalow snapped to attention, then strode out the door. She was one of those who'd been here since the beginning, and Margaret had elevated her to one of her senior nurses because she had a modest respect for authority and she was good at her job. That, coupled with the fact that she was one of the only ones who would tell Margaret what she really thought, earned her a great deal of esteem from her head nurse.

She heard the faint sound of shouting from the direction of the Swamp, and Margaret guessed BJ was welcoming his friend back in true Swamp-rat fashion. After changing into her nightclothes, she settled back down with her book for the night. To her surprise, another knock came about half an hour later. She shut her book and rose, opening the door just a crack to see who it was.

"Hey Margaret, you're looking stunning this evening."

She rolled her eyes at Pierce's remark and tugged her gown tighter around her. "Pierce, what do you want?"

"I just thought you'd like to give me a proper welcome home," he spread his arms wide and grinned, but it was the look in his eyes that startled her. There just a little too much joviality in them, and he was acting a little too goofy. Something had happened, and he was hiding behind a mask of frivolity – it seemed Hawkeye kept more demons at bay than insanity. He'd dropped his arms as she studied him, and she saw his face change the instant he knew she'd figured him out. Quickly and wordlessly she stepped aside, allowing him to enter her tent in two strides.

Once inside, away from the prying eyes of those who wouldn't understand, she wrapped her arms around his neck and felt him breathe into her hair. He clung tightly to her and while she knew he wouldn't cry – in fact, she couldn't remember _ever_ seeing him cry – she felt better for knowing that sometimes he needed her as much as she needed him.

"You want to talk about it?" she asked quietly when it felt as if they'd stood there long enough. He took a shaky breath and pulled away, letting her sit him down in her desk chair. She perched on the edge of her bed, close enough to offer comfort, but allowing him distance to collect his thoughts. He stared at the wall for a moment, and Margaret thought for a brief second that he was going to skirt around it, make a joke, and leave. Then he took a shaky breath and his head dropped as he leaned forward, elbows on knees.

"Kid had a piece of shrapnel close to his heart. Their CO took him at first, but when it got too tricky they all looked at me. I just…it was so close to his heart." Margaret felt tears welling up in her eyes. Losing a patient was hard on all of them, but Hawkeye took it personally. His personal survival rate was higher even than the camp's average, so it was no surprise when he was made Chief Surgeon. She could probably count on two hands the number of people that had been lost on Pierce's table in the last fifteen months, and she'd bet even money that he remembered every one of their names. She reached out and laid a hand on his arm, trying to tell him without words how sorry she was. But Lorraine's words kept coming back to her, telling her to do more, to let someone in. Knowing that now was not the time to share her own insecurities about her life, she focused instead on the man in front of her.

She grabbed his hand and tugged, ignoring the questioning look in his eyes as he stood next to the bed. She laid down and patted the small space left on the Army issued cot. For a second, she saw Hawkeye surface again, ready to make a lewd comment about sharing a bed. But then the look was gone, and Ben kicked off his boots and lay down next to her.

"I'm not really sure what's happening, but I'm not stupid enough to question it," he told her, wrapping his cold arms around her warm body. She tucked her head under his chin and slipped her right arm over his waist as he tugged her closer.

"Shut up, Pierce, and take what's being offered." Just as his kiss weeks ago had told her he would always be there for her, she was replying in kind. They lay there holding each other, listening to the soft breathing of the only other person in the room.

"It was hard, having them all look at me like I'm some sort of miracle worker," he admitted softly, and she felt his chest rumble as he spoke. "I…" his throat closed over his words, and she felt his Adam's apple bob up and down against her forehead as he swallowed a few times to regain control. "I _wanted_ to save him."

"Of course you did," she replied fiercely, tightening her grip on him, anchoring him as his emotions swirled. She leaned her head back enough to look in his eyes, letting him see the sincerity in her words. "I've never known a more dedicated surgeon. But not even you can save everyone. I know you did absolutely everything you could to save him, and it's _not_ your fault he died." He took a shaky breath, but said nothing to counter her statement. Silence enveloped them then, and nothing was heard except their steady breathing.

"I should go," he whispered after a while. She bit back her protest, knowing he was right even if he wasn't completely back to his normal self. She'd let him in, even for just a moment, and she could see gratitude swirling behind the emotions in his eyes. He slipped from the bed and pulled his boots back on, and she stood to give him the space he probably needed after showing such vulnerability. He almost made it out the door before she laid a hand on his arm, forcing his gaze to hers. The thank you was in his eyes as he quickly exited her tent, and she watched him slink quietly across the camp and into the Swamp.

* * *

Next up: "Commander Pierce"


	4. Commander Pierce

A hitch becomes an opening...

* * *

When Potter's order that Pierce was taking over temporarily had reached Margaret, she'd fumed for over an hour in her tent. She was not only higher ranking, but she was definitely more fit for command than a draftee doctor. But, the more she thought about it, she wondered if Potter hadn't planned it out all in advance to instill a little Army into the chaotic disposition of their Chief Surgeon. Margaret didn't think it was going to work, but hearing Pierce snap at BJ in OR had made her rethink Potter's cunning.

It wasn't his fault really; Pierce was no more ready to command a unit than she was to host a tea party. He was out of his element and it seemed the pressures of command were weighing down on him heavily. Thinking on their newfound relationship – such as it was – she strolled into Radar's office with a determined look.

"Is the _Commander_ in?" she joked, earning a nervous chuckle from the bespectacled kid.

"Yes, Ma'am, he is, but he's doing all the paperwork he's neglected for two days and he's awfully busy so if you would be so kind as not to disturb the Captain Major I'm sure he would appreciate it sir – ma'am." She knew the company clerk spoke more rapidly the more nervous he was, so it was no surprise how quickly the speech spilled from his mouth. She patted him on the shoulder, ignoring his flinch, and strode past him.

"Just a moment, Corporal, then I'll let our esteemed commander get back to work." She pushed the office door open and stopped in her tracks. There, head down upon a pile of paperwork, lay Captain Pierce. She chuckled as she noticed some drool leaking from his mouth onto the requisition for more blankets. After making sure the doors were closed, and that Radar wasn't up to his usual eavesdropping, she moved around to his side and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Captain," she called softly, shaking his shoulder. When he didn't stir, she leaned in close. "Hawkeye," she tried a little more firmly. He snaked an arm around her waist as he leaned back, pulling her into his lap. She stifled the squeak that rose in her throat as he opened his eyes sleepily.

"Mmm…hey Major Baby," he murmured, and she slapped his shoulder softly. Surprisingly, she made no move to get off his lap, and even settled her hands on his shoulders.

"Too much paperwork?"

The hand that wasn't on her waist ran tiredly down his face. "Yeah, I never realized how many trees had to die for this unit to run smoothly. And I would have had it all done hours ago, except I've had to babysit all morning."

She laughed at that, marveling at how military he was beginning to sound. "Can I give you some advice I learned the hard way?" He grunted, and she didn't know if that was a yes or a no, but she continued anyway. "These people know their jobs. Just sit back, let them do their thing, and don't hover."

He glared at her then, and despite telling herself it was the stress, she felt hurt.

"This coming from _Hot Lips_ Houlihan, the scourge of every nurse in Korea? The one who egged Frank Burns on when he was on a military rampage?" he spat.

She jumped up and moved away from him, and he made no move to follow. "How dare you!" she answered just as hotly. "All I was trying to do was offer some advice. I thought we were friends; that we could speak to each other openly. I was _trying_ to save you a headache, but if you want to be Frank Burns Mark 2, then by all means go right ahead!" She stormed out, almost bowling over Radar in the process. "Watch it twerp!"

Hawkeye had half a mind to go after her and yell at her some more, but the mountain of unfinished paperwork stopped him in his tracks.

Despite one little incident after surgery, Pierce didn't see Margaret for the rest of the day. When Potter came back, Hawkeye nearly jumped up from the desk. He was at odds with just about everybody in camp, and he'd realized in the last few hours or so that he didn't like "Commander Pierce" too much either. He was more than happy to resume the roll of Hawkeye, Chief Cut-up, but Potter had other ideas. A few minutes later they were in the Swamp, and despite not being in charge anymore, Hawkeye couldn't help berating BJ for his half-cocked escapade up to the front.

"Enough!" Potter had almost emptied the bottle between them, and with alcohol loosening their tongues, words were flying between the friends like fire. At their CO's bellow, however, there was silence. "That's better. Now, it seems as if my attempt to mend bridges turned into a disaster, so I'm going to leave. Pierce, you're coming with me."

"But I live here!" the doctor protested, ignoring the dark look he was getting from his friend.

"And for the time being, I'd like it to stay that way. If I leave you two here alone, I'm afraid only one of you will continue living here. Out!" Pierce huffed but knew when not to disobey Potter. With one last hard look at BJ, he stormed out the door in a huff.

"Don't ever leave him in charge again," BJ started, but a glare from Potter shut him up too.

"Can it, Hunnicutt. You're taking his shift in post-op tonight to make up for the fact that you went gallivanting off without permission." At BJ protesting look, Potter held up a finger. "Need I remind you that I could and will allow Pierce to write up that report should you _not_ feel the need to make it up to him. Come on, BJ, you two have been thicker than thieves since you got here; don't let something like this drive you apart."

The captain sighed heavily. "Alright, you win. _And_ I'll apologize to him for real when he calms down. Tomorrow he should be back to normal."

"There, that's what I like to hear," Potter smiled. "I'll inform the defunct commander of your generosity. I imagine he'll be doing some apologizing of his own before it's all said and done." With that, the commander left, leaving BJ to get ready for his impromptu shift.

Hawkeye stormed across the compound toward the mess tent, then turned around and began toward post-op. Halfway there, he turned again and paced toward the latrines. What agitated him the most was the fact that BJ was right; Captain Pierce would have done anything to save the life of a soldier, including commandeering a jeep and driving to the front without orders. He'd have to have a talk with his friend tomorrow, when both of them had time to calm down. And what really stung was Potter had come back and told him the same thing Margaret had tried to tell him days ago.

He stopped cold and closed his eyes. She was probably furious with him after the things he'd said and done. That particular apology couldn't wait; he had to see her tonight. He detoured one last time and began the trek toward the Major's tent, but Colonel Potter stepped into his path.

"Feeling better, Pierce?"

"Just dandy," he replied. "You're never allowed to leave again."

Potter chuckled. "BJ said the same thing to me, right before I gave him your shift in post-op. Don't make me regret it." Pierce nodded abashedly. "You headed someplace in particular with that determined look on your face?"

"Yeah, Commander Pierce made a few enemies and left Hawkeye holding the bag." Potter nodded.

"Just remember, be honest with her." And he was gone. Pierce stared after him for a moment, wondering just how the old colonel knew he was headed to see the major. After a moment, he shrugged, chalking it up to years of experience and a keen eye. He finished his walk to Margaret's tent and knocked softly.

"Who is it?" her voice floated out to him and he took a deep breath.

"I come bearing apologies," he began, hoping she would at least hear him out. After a moment of unbearable silence, he heard shuffling from inside and stepped back to allow her to open the door. Her face was hardened as she took in his appearance on her doorstep. When she didn't say anything, it was clear she was waiting for him to begin.

"I was an ass," he said simply. Her brow shot up in surprise and she retreated a few steps inside, holding the door so he could follow. He did, but only far enough to let the door close behind him.

"Go on," she prompted, folding her arms across her chest. Hawkeye recognized the defensive gesture and kicked himself for abusing her trust in him.

"I said some…choice words that I now regret after thinking everything over. I mean, what do you expect really when you put a half-crazy draftee doctor in charge of a camp full of misfits? But I didn't handle the pressure very well, and while I don't really like the choices and orders I had to make, I do think that they were the right ones. The only thing I really regret is snapping at you; it was undeserved."

"And?" her posture relaxed a bit, but Hawkeye groaned silently when he realized she was going to make him say it.

"And I'm sorry."

She stood silently staring at him, as if evaluating the sincerity behind his words. Finally, she dropped her hands and sighed.

"Pierce, you can't be too hard on yourself. And you were right; those choices you made were the right ones. But being a good leader means listening to your people, and letting them do their jobs. Yelling at them constantly gets you nothing." Her voice softened then and she gave him a sad look. "Take that from an old pro."

"Margaret, I –"

"No, you were right. I expect perfection from those under my command, and my methods were - _are_ - fierce and unrelenting. But all it got me was a camp full of people who despised me and one lousy half-relationship with an extremely dysfunctional man."

He took a step toward her, emboldened when she didn't step back. "Margaret, nothing you've ever done or will do warrants the way I – or anyone else – treated you, and I wanted you to be the first to hear it from me. I'm sorry." He tried to convey through his eyes that he meant just more than the last few days, and the way the smile played around her lips he knew she understood.

"Apology accepted," she finally gave him a soft smile, and he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He grinned as she shook her head. "I hope this experience leaves a good mark on you," she continued. "Now you can appreciate the strain those of us in command are put under."

"You know, I'm still adamantly against people ordering others around, but I promise that in the future I will endeavor to 'appreciate the strain' a little more." She held out her hand for a handshake, then laughed as he grabbed it and pulled her against him.

"Pierce!" she wasn't mad, but he felt her tense in his arms. Lowering his mouth to her ear, he ignored her shiver as he spoke from his heart. It was hard for him to look her in the eye and tell her, so he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Thank you for trying to be honest with me, even if I was acting like a heel. You are a wonderful, caring, driven woman who deserves nothing but the utmost respect. If I ever fail to give it to you, feel free to knock some sense into me. And if someone else fails, I hope you do the same." There was no doubt as to whom he was referring, and Margaret fiddled with her wedding ring absently behind his back.

It was no secret that she and Donald hadn't been on the best of terms lately, and she often ranted to Pierce when he was available. It was strange, she thought, that the one person she'd detested the most when she'd arrived had become her closest friend. But he always listened to her points, often agreeing with her, but telling her honestly when he didn't. And too many times he'd entered Radar's office after overhearing a heated phone argument, if only to keep her from trashing the clerk's semi-tidy space.

But now, in the solace of her tent and his arms, she felt relaxed and comfortable. When he pulled away and kissed her forehead, she closed her eyes. She wanted to ask what it was that he wanted from her, but she was afraid that talking about it would bring an end to his steady presence in her life. With a soft goodbye he was gone, leaving her completely baffled. The enigma that was her and Pierce's relationship continued to plague her mind as she lay down to sleep.

* * *

Next up: "Peace on Us"


	5. Peace on Us

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far. It really does inspire me to keep going. You rock!

* * *

Hawkeye watched Margaret very nearly skip out of the mess tent in happiness. He tried to be happy for his friend, but he had an unnerving twitch in his gut that told him things weren't going to work out the way Margaret was planning them to. Donald was from a certain mold, and in his experience Hawkeye had never seen one worth his weight in manure.

"Earth to Hawkeye Pierce, you're clear for landing." BJ's voice broke through his thoughts and he took a deep breath before smiling at his friend. "Everything okay, Hawk?"

"Just peachy," he retorted, standing. "This breakfast has ruined my appetite. I'm gonna go see what they're serving in post-op."

"Bedpans and saline solution, most likely." BJ shoveled the last of his so-called breakfast into his mouth as Hawkeye waved.

"My stomach just grumbled. See ya."

When the choppers rolled in Hawkeye bit back the groan that rose in his throat. There was no need to let the wounded know how frustrated he was with this stupid war; God knows they didn't need reminding. He caught a glimpse of Margaret bursting from her tent, heading toward the triage area to get her nurses organized. Hawkeye was more interested in why Radar was exiting her tent behind her, and he collared the kid as he attempted to run by. Even without his gift, Radar knew what Hawkeye's question was going to be.

"Her Lieutenant Colonel husband is leaving for a week, so their date's postponed." And he was gone. Pierce filed that information away for a later conversation with Margaret and dove into the influx of broken and bleeding men that were streaming in.

Unfortunately, he never got to question her as Bell sidled up to his table. He looked around and found Margaret handing BJ a scalpel from the tray, so he listened to her tone. She seemed just as cheery and upbeat as she had at breakfast, so Hawkeye reasoned she was either hiding it very well or she wasn't too concerned.

"He's under, Doctor," his anesthesiologist said softly, and he checked the x-ray one more time before holding his hand out.

"Scalpel."

Five grueling hours later, Hawkeye glowered at Charles as they entered the scrub room. The last thing they needed was their CO chewing them out about getting along, and Hawkeye only half-listened as he was ordered to put on a happy face.

"Beej," he said with false-enthusiasm, "what do you say we head over Rosie's and spread the good cheer?"

"My good man, you read my mind," the other surgeon replied with a smile. "Charles?" BJ – ever the peacemaker – tried to include their bunk mate, but the Major's glare had him rethinking his offer. "Fine, let's go Hawk. We'll nab some more people on the way."

The two doctors linked arms and skipped merrily out the door, earning smiles and odd stares from the corpsmen cleaning up from triage. Radar came bursting from his office, glasses askew, frantic as he ran up to the doctors.

"Slow down, Radar, or you'll get a ticket. What's the rush?" Hawkeye stepped away from BJ and laid a hand on the poor boy's shoulder.

"I need to find Major Houlihan on account of her husband is on the phone and wishes to speak with her right away." The clerk's words were a jumble, and it took Hawkeye a few seconds to sort it out.

"She was in OR when we left, she's probably still there or in the scrub room." Radar took off once more, waving absently as Hawkeye shouted for him to slow down once more. "Must be important," he commented to BJ, who was looking around.

"Ah, I'm too tired to walk all the way over to Rosie's. How about the next best thing?"

Hawkeye stared at him blankly. "The latrines?"

"The still. Come on, Hawk, first round's on me. Besides, we have to make ourselves presentable for the colonel." He dragged his friend back to the Swamp where Charles was already in his robe, getting ready for a shower. As they stepped through the door, Hawkeye caught a whiff of Charles' aftershave and gagged.

"Geez, Charles, what is that? _Odour de Chaps?_"

"Gentlemen," he didn't stop his ministrations, and only glanced over as BJ picked up the bottle and inspected it. "I wouldn't expect two plebeians such as yourselves to be able to appreciate the delicate luxuries of a moneyed life, but I will ask you to respect it!" He snatched the bottle from BJ's hand violently, and the younger man held his hands up innocently.

"Hey, I was just looking. You couldn't pay me enough to smell like that." Charles clenched his jaw and staunchly ignored them from that moment on. Hawkeye, who had already downed a "martini" and was now reading an old book from the shelf, just looked up at his two tent-mates. BJ had begun gathering his toiletries to comply with Potter's orders to spruce up a bit, and it seemed Charles was content to ignore them as he sat down to pen a letter home before his shower. All seemed quiet for now, and if his luck held out they'd get some well-deserved rest for a while.

But it seemed the universe just couldn't leave them alone, and as Hawkeye stormed out of his tent in a rage he ignored the apology from Colonel Potter. He kicked the nearest object as hard as he could, only mildly satisfied as the metal canister flew a good ten to fifteen yards across the compound.

"45 points?!" He was beyond frustrated; this was full-blown anger. He paced up to the jeep parked nearby and decided that taking his rage out on an inanimate object would probably be a lot safer than grabbing whoever happened to be walking by. He reached into the back and grabbed the removable seat. "Why not 50! 60! A million!" He hurled it back down with such force that it shook the jeep, and sent Private Goldman scrambling to get out of his path. With one last defiant grunt, he kicked the jeep as hard as he could. Suddenly, the canister that he'd so ungraciously sent careening came crashing back to his feet, and he looked up sharply as Margaret stomped toward him.

"Out of my way Pierce! I'm gonna kick every can in this camp!" She gave the item another good kick, and watched as it rolled pathetically out of the way in an attempt to surrender. He knew she was steamed if she was using his last name, but now was not the time for her to be testy with him.

"I don't know what set you off, but I'm not in the mood," he snapped. Minutes later, he was eating his words. He watched her anger dissipate into despair as she explained her tirade and the phone call she'd just placed.

"What do you mean he ran out on you?" He felt his temperature rising again as one of his closest friends detailed just how horrible her husband really was, and how much he'd hurt her. She was openly crying now, telling him her plans on divorce, and Hawkeye couldn't just stand there. He walked to her quickly but didn't touch her. She was crying in public, which was shocking enough, so he didn't expect her to dive into his arms. Instead he stood by her side, his heart breaking as she blamed herself for her husband's cowardice. His anger at the Army increased tenfold as he realized just how helpless they all were. This had to end now, and he was going to let someone know.

Spotting the jeep he'd so recently abused in anger, he darted over and adjusted the back seat quickly before starting the engine. He ignored her yells of protest as he drove away, determined to make someone see reason.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Divorce. Even in this day and age it was a dreaded word. Marriages were sacred unions between woman and man, a promise to love forever and never give up. But Margaret had reached the end of her rope, and she knew with all her heart that she and Donald were never meant to go the distance.

She sat in Colonel Potter's office and listened half-heartedly to the three men outside as they tracked down their wayward surgeon. She was relieved to hear he made it to Panmunjom, and felt a mixture of shock and pride that he'd actually managed to make it through the gate. But busting in on the peace talks was sure to earn Pierce some serious reprimands and maybe even some time in the stockade. But maybe – just maybe – he'd be able to get through to someone there before they arrested him.

"Doctors, come quick!" it was Kellye's voice that ultimately snapped her out of her thoughts and she rushed through the office doors to assist in whatever emergency had popped up.

An hour later she was crowded into Radar's office in front of what seemed like the whole camp as he tried to contact the gate guards again. They'd heard nothing about Hawkeye since he weaseled his way in, and it seemed as if everyone was curious as to what happened to their Chief Surgeon. Charles and BJ had to go back in on one of Hawkeye's patients – something Margaret knew would not sit well with the man once they told him – but as Bell had assisted with that operation Potter called her out to help again, leaving Margaret free to find out just had happened to her friend.

"Really? That's it? Well, thanks a million! Bye now." Radar hung up the phone and looked back at Colonel Potter. "They let him go." There was a collective sigh of relief, as well as a few shocked outbursts. "He went in, talked a bit, then they escorted him out. The guard said he just got in his jeep and drove away." A cheer went up and Potter clapped the boy on the shoulder.

"Good news! That's just what I like to hear. Alright, you folks clear outta here and get back to your duties. I'm gonna go tell the boys." He bustled out of the office and over to the OR, leaving Margaret to usher everyone out of the clerk's office. Once everyone was gone, she turned back to the corporal. He seemed nervous now that they were alone, and she silently cursed herself for losing her temper…again.

"Radar, I want to…" It was hard apologizing to an enlisted man, but she knew she had to do it. There was no need to take anything out on him, even if he was a little aggravating at times. "I shouldn't have kicked the door down. I lost my temper and it will not happen again. Clear?" Her tone made it sound as if he was the one at fault, and when he cringed and nodded she sighed. "I'm sorry." And she left, completely missing the look of surprise on his face.

Potter was racing across the compound toward her with a big, toothy grin on his face. "Major, BJ's putting together a pow wow for our returning stray. He says he needs as much red dye as we can lay our hands on."

She shook her head. "Red dye? What on earth for?"

"I'm not sure, but he said something about livening up the place."

"We may have something in the store room that will work, but I don't think we should waste it on a party," Margaret was warring with the Major inside, but eventually Margaret won. Her face softened at the hopeful expression on her commander's face and she sighed. "I'll go look," she said finally, trotting off to fulfill the request. Behind her she could hear Potter barking orders to get the mess tent ready for a party.

Finally, they were all gathered, and as Margaret looked around she had to stifle her giggles. BJ had really outdone himself this time; there wasn't a speck of green in the place. She laughed as Charles sidled up to her, grumbling profusely about having to participate in this "charade." She handed him a glass of punch and told him to lighten up.

It seemed like no one wanted to wait for Hawkeye, especially Charles. By the time the jeep pulled up in the compound, the stuffy Major was teetering by the punch bowl. She grabbed his arm and turned him around slowly.

"Hawkeye's back," she told him plainly, and quieted everyone down as BJ stepped outside. The look on his face as he entered the mess tent made Margaret's heart beat faster. She loved his smiles – though she would probably never admit it aloud. They were broad and joyful and contagious, and immediately everyone was smiling and chortling as Hawkeye burst out into loud, gleeful laughter. Carefully, so as not to drop him, she led Charles over to the gathered group.

"Pierce?" he slurred.

"Yes?" Hawkeye answered, turning to look at them. He was still smiling as Charles called his name a couple more times. The drunkard sloshed his head over to look at the other man and said words Margaret knew he was going to regret in the morning.

"Oh, I do now," Charles answered as Pierce voiced her thought. She let the major go and he stumbled away as Hawkeye reached for her. She embraced him, realizing fully for the first time just how close she'd come to losing him. He could have been shelled, captured, arrested, or any number of things on the trip out there and back. But those thoughts were pushed aside as he asked about her divorce.

"Best thing that ever happened to me!" she replied truthfully. She watched his face morph from concern to happiness as she told him how free she felt.

"That's great, that's fantastic! That's just I wanted to hear. I _needed _to hear. I'm proud of you, Margaret." She embraced him again and grabbed his hand.

"God, I need a drink." He laughed and let her lead him over to Colonel Potter, who held out a glass of red punch. She stayed near him the rest of the night, and other than once instant when Major Goss first showed up, they had a ball drinking, laughing, and dancing into the night.

"Where's my tent?" Margaret was leaning heavily on Hawkeye and BJ as they left the mess tent. Only a few stragglers were left, but Hawkeye knew they had to get Margaret home before she started dancing on tables again.

"Where's your tent? Heck where's _our_ tent?" BJ slurred, stumbling only slightly less than Margaret. Hawkeye was nowhere near sober, but had a bit more stability than his two companions. Deciding the Swamp was closer, he set Margaret down in one of the wooden chairs outside and literally dropped BJ into his bunk.

"Good night, sweet prince," he mumbled before shuffling back outside to take Margaret home. In the ten seconds it had taken him to deposit BJ she'd fallen asleep sitting up with her head lolled back.

"Margaret, get up."

"No." Her voice was firm, but no other part of her moved. "I'm good here."

"Here? Outside the Swamp? Like that? Margaret, you'll wake up with a crick in your neck so bad you'll need a platoon of masseuses just to get it uncricked. Come on, lean on me, I'll help you." He slid his arm around her shoulders and felt her shift her weight enough for him to get her to her feet.

"You always do that," she said suddenly. He couldn't decipher her tone, so he didn't know if she was upset or not. To his recollection he'd done nothing that warranted irritability, so he guessed not.

"Do what?" His curiosity was piqued now, and he glanced sidelong at her.

"Help me. Let me lean on you. Why?" She was speaking in short sentences, probably trying to sound less drunk than she was, but she wasn't fooling him.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe I've got a niceties quota to fill and you're handy." He knew that wasn't it, and she did too. But in time-honored tradition, he hid his feelings behind jokes and sarcasm.

She scowled at him, an effect that was softened somewhat by the drunken blush on her cheeks and her slackened face.

"I'm not 'handy'…I'm sturdy, remember?" Hawkeye didn't really want to have _this_ conversation right now, but it seemed Margaret didn't care. "So says my no good account of a husband. _Ex_-husband. Who needs him?" She was rambling right now, but as he opened her tent door she stepped away from him and carefully walked over to her desk. On it was a framed picture of her and Donald in Tokyo after their quick wedding. The doctors had just managed to get the full body cast off of him, and his skin was still raw in some places where he'd perspired underneath.

"Margaret?" Hawkeye's soft voice pulled her from her thoughts, and the more she stared at the picture the angrier she became. With a short yell of rage, she hurled the photo across the room, satisfied when the glass frame shattered against a tent support. Strong arms grabbed her from behind before she collapsed to the floor, and she felt herself being led sideways, then to a sitting position. The arms were still around her, and she turned around into the warm body behind her.

"Why?" She wasn't sure exactly what she was asking, so expecting Hawkeye to respond was absurd. The hand that wasn't currently snaked around her waist moved up to hold her head against his shoulder as he took a deep breath.

"Because he's an idiot, that's why," he whispered. The joker in him fought for control, but he stamped down on his cynical impulses and spoke honestly. "I don't want you blaming yourself for this, okay? I know before I left that you thought you'd picked a crummy place to have a marriage, and you were right. But that doesn't give him any excuse to treat you like this." His words weren't really penetrating her haze, but the timbre of his voice and vibration in his chest relaxed her as she half-sobbed into his shoulder.

"Margaret, I'm going to lay you down and clean up that broken frame, okay? Just stay here for a minute." He pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and set about collecting the small pieces of glass into his hand. Once he was sure he'd gotten them all, he piled them on her desk to throw away tomorrow. By the time he turned back around, she was snoring softly with her mouth hanging open. Chuckling to himself, he tucked her in more tightly and dropped a kiss on her forehead.

"Good night, Margaret."

* * *

Next up: "Inga"


	6. Inga

Many of you were waiting for this one...

* * *

Hawkeye stormed out of the mess tent frothing as catcalls and applause echoed behind him. Deciding the Swamp was no place to throw a tantrum (it always looked like a tornado blew through anyway), he stomped off toward the edge of camp.

"How dare she!" he ranted to no one. "Slab of liver! Electric lips! She's one to talk." He stared at the tree in front of him for a moment before laying a hand on his head. "Oh boy, I've gone cuckoo. I'm talking to a spruce." He turned and paced a few steps before whirling around and heading back for the tree. "You know, you're a really good listener. You don't mind if I bend your bark for a minute do you? I didn't think so." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and sighed.

"You know, these past few weeks have been great. The impending divorce has really changed her attitude toward life…and toward men. I mean she's always been feisty, I don't think even MacArthur would argue that. But something about her lately just…now don't tell her I told you this." He paused. "Your leaves are sealed…good.

"The thing is…my feelings for the Major aren't so minor. I think Benjamin Franklin Pierce is having what they call a 'grown up' experience. I mean sure she's bossy, but she's the head nurse. She's confident, but I'm not really a fan of flimsy floosies anyway." He chuckled to himself as he leaned against the trunk and looked up. "You don't mind, do you?

"At first I thought it was just a residual thing from our time in that hut, but ever since then we've been…I'm not even sure there's a word for what we've been. Friends, sure, but more, too. Oh not lovers – though let me tell you, her body? To die for. Believe me, I've been pretty damn close to it a few times." Hawkeye shoved himself away from the tree and took up his pacing again.

"She's just so damn frustrating sometimes! Like tonight. I thought with the arrival of Inga I could take my mind off of Margaret and prove to myself that my attraction to her was just ephemeral. But you know what? She was right. In the past, and especially lately, women have been a pleasant, entertaining way to pass the time. But Inga is different. She's assertive, proud, and extremely intelligent. She gives me a run for my money." He paused and put his hand in his hands. "I guess I did a worse job of forgetting about Margaret than I thought. In my haste to find someone to distract me, I stumbled into her Swedish copy."

He stopped pacing and looked back toward camp. There were people milling around, but most of them were still gathered in the mess tent. Even at this distance, through the dark and the netting, he could spot Margaret at their usual table. She was laughing, if her posture was any indication, and every now and then someone would pass by and pat her on the shoulder. Hawkeye scowled into the darkness and lashed out, kicking the nearest object. Unfortunately for his foot, it was the tree he'd been rambling at.

"Ow!" He hopped on his left foot and shook his right loosely. "Sorry about that. You listen to my ramblings and the way I repay you is with violence. Good thing I'm not a tree surgeon." He guffawed at his own lame joke for a second before sighing. "I've got a lot of apologizing to do, I guess. Better get started." He set his jaw and began walking back toward the camp and his big helping of humble pie.

The next evening, Margaret left the mess tent still accepting congratulations over her dressing down of Hawkeye the night before. Most of her nurses had thanked her in passing, but Margaret hadn't really done it for them. Hawkeye was a known aficionado of women; he was polite and very much a gentleman with the fairer sex, but that was the key word: sex. She knew how desperate and lonely a war could make a person, and everyone dealt with that a different way. But the ineffable Captain Pierce needed to brought down a peg or two.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized she'd been right all those weeks ago. He hid his true self behind the alcohol and the nurses and the wisecracks. Hawkeye Pierce could survive anything as long as he had those three things, but underneath it all Benjamin was as scared as the rest of them. But it seemed, despite her best efforts, it was that man under the mask she'd developed feelings for. And – as long as she was being truthful to herself – the way he threw himself at the visiting doctor was more than a little unnerving.

As she walked toward her bunk, she saw Inga emerge from the VIP tent. The other woman gave her a friendly smile, and Margaret felt compelled to wave and smile back. But as she watched her walk toward the Swamp, then enter as if invited, Margaret felt the smile fading from her face. Before anyone could see her, she darted into her tent and took deep breaths.

"This is ridiculous. It's not as if you and he are together!" She sighed and sat heavily on her bed. "Oh for heaven's sake, now I'm talking to my tent."

If she was honest, letting out her frustration at Hawkeye was a little cathartic. She'd been dealing with a jumble of confusing emotions regarding him for several weeks now and it felt good to let them out, even if it was in anger. And while she had definitely wanted to call him on his behavior, she had to admit it hadn't been the only reason she felt upset over it.

In the distance, she heard a tent door slamming, and she couldn't resist peeking outside. Inga was stalking back toward the VIP tent, a scowl etched firmly onto her face. Back in the Swamp, Margaret could see Hawkeye tossing things about in a fit. No doubt the famous Pierce ego had reared its ugly head again, but as she watched her friend struggle she genuinely felt sorry for him. It's not as if he could help it really; he was a product of his upbringing. And while women were becoming more independent, especially since the last World War, it was true that many older men still viewed them as "the weaker sex." It was probably a testament to his character that he had as much professional respect as he did.

Then again, the way Pierce spoke of his father – his sole parent since he was a boy – Margaret wondered if his attitude wasn't instilled by the elder Pierce. Still, she glared and pulled her door closed. It served him right to be not only rejected by a woman, but a woman who was his professional equal.

"Enough, Margaret," she chastised herself for spending too much time thinking about him. Getting her book, she paused only momentarily to look at the photo on her desk. She didn't remember her wedding picture being broken, but then again she had been rather drunk that night. So it was no surprise when Hawkeye showed up on her doorstep with a sheepish grin and a wrapped package. He didn't stay - citing some "company sock wash" outing – but when she opened the gift she found a framed photo of her and the doctors sitting around one of the tables in the mess tent.

She didn't know who was behind the camera, but whoever it was had captured a rare moment of joviality among the senior officers. They were all smiling or – in the case of her and Hawkeye – laughing joyfully at something that had just occurred. Even Charles was smiling, his posture and expression open and honest as he joined his comrades in laughter. Potter was grinning like a fool and it appeared as if BJ had just taken a bite and was trying to contain his ear to ear smile.

But the section she adored the most was the other side of the table. She and Hawkeye were alight with laughter, and she was leaning against him slightly for support as his bright eyes danced with merriment. As she thought back, she couldn't remember exactly what had happened, but she remembered feeling free and easy for the first time in months as they relaxed and just enjoyed each other's company.

Realizing she wasn't getting anywhere in her book tonight, Margaret just changed into her nightclothes and lay down to sleep. Unsurprisingly, her dreams were pleasant and filled with a blue eyed surgeon.

The next morning, Margaret heard the camp gossip mill at it again. The word about Pierce's second strikeout with the Swedish doctor was floating around. He looked miserable as he sat at the breakfast table with BJ, and if she hadn't promised her nurses she'd eat breakfast with them she knew she would be over there trying to cheer him up. He'd had a wake-up call – mostly thanks to her – and it seemed like he was genuinely trying to change. As she sat down next to Bigelow, Hawkeye stood up and left the mess tent. She watched him go for a moment before turning her attention back to her nurses.

Wounded in the compound ruined the end of a nearly perfect day in Korea. Even Klinger had been on top of his work today, and finished every report early. Margaret folded the last of her laundry as the choppers poured in. She caught a brief glimpse of Hawkeye rushing from the VIP tent with Dr. Halverson close behind him. They looked annoyed, but not with each other.

"Figures," he grumbled as she knelt next to a chest wound with him. "The minute I actually start getting anywhere, the war interrupts." He was gone in a flash, but Margaret could guess what he'd been griping about.

OR went as smoothly as the day had gone – especially with an extra doctor to help out – so it was no surprise when they finished in almost record time. Potter congratulated them all and offered to buy a round of drinks in the mess tent, but no one was awake enough to join him. Inga retreated to her tent to pack and get a few hours' sleep before her jeep left in the morning, and Hawkeye dragged himself back to the Swamp in a gloomy daze.

"Poor guy," BJ commented as he and Margaret cleaned up the scrub room the next day. She tossed the last of the towels into the autoclave and hummed a non-committal response. "Just when Hawkeye finally put his ego aside and really started to open up to her, she has to go. It's a shame." Another grunt from Margaret was all he received, so he turned around from his cleaning to look at her.

"Everything alright, Margaret?"

"Hmm?" her head snapped around, "Oh yes, Captain, everything is fine." BJ stared at her a moment longer then returned to his cleaning.

"You know," he said offhandedly, "you really got him thinking with your rant the other day."

"Well, it was about time someone deflated that big head of his," she retorted sharply.

BJ chuckled and held his hands up defensively. "I'm not saying he didn't deserve it. I just think it's funny how any of us can tell him till we're blue in the face, but it's you he listens to."

Her shoulders tensed and though her back was to him, he could imagine the hard expression on her face.

"Perhaps he's finally got it through his head that I'm a superior officer." She was all "Major Houlihan" now and BJ sighed.

"Look, Margaret, I didn't mean to make you upset."

"Upset?" her voice raised an octave. "Why would I be upset that Pierce is finally down here with the rest of us? He needed a dose of reality and I gave it to him." BJ knew he wouldn't get anything more out of her when she was like this, so he just tossed his wash rag into the laundry and stretched.

"Well, we're all done here. I hear we got a movie starting up in an hour. _Casablanca_." Her face softened at the news and he laid a hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you go grab a shower, I'll grab Hawkeye, and we can all go see it?" She almost refused out of instinct, but something inside of her made her reconsider.

"Sounds good, BJ." He squeezed her shoulder and darted out the door before she could change her mind.

An hour later, she walked into the mess tent-turned-movie theater and looked around. BJ was sitting in their usual row on the right hand side, but he was alone. She sat next to him and raised an eyebrow in question.

"He said he had some paperwork to finish in post-op and that he'd catch it the next time." Even through BJ, she could tell that Hawkeye had been lying, and she didn't have to be a genius to figure out why. As the reel started she nodded and dashed outside, determined to get Hawkeye out of his funk.

She found him just where BJ said he would be – in post op reading a book. He looked up as she knelt by his chair.

"Didn't you know the movie just went on in the mess tent?" She tried to convey through her tone just how sorry she was about the whole situation.

"Yeah, _Casablanca_," he replied flatly.

"With Humphrey Bogart," she smiled.

"And Ingrid Bergman," he added pointedly. "I don't think I'm strong enough to hear a Swedish accent for a while."

She felt bad for him, and reached out to lay her hand on his arm. "It was kind of rough for you, wasn't it?"

He closed his book and looked away from her. "'Of all the gin joints in all the world she had to walk into mine,'" he quoted.

She squeezed his arm in sympathy. "Come on, see the movie," she coaxed; it didn't do him any good to sit and wallow.

But he just shook his head and gave her a half-hearted smile. "No, I'm alright." He opened his book again but she tugged on his arm almost pleadingly.

"I'll buy you popcorn."

He looked at her for a long minute then smiled. Closing his book, he stood up and draped an arm over her shoulders.

"You're going to pull me through this in spite of myself, aren't you?" She slipped her arm around his waist as he pulled her against him affectionately. He was half-surprised she allowed it in full view of the wounded and one of her nurses, but the smile on her face heartened him.

"Why not?" she returned happily, glad that he seemed to be getting back to his old self – well, his new old self. When he adopted an accent and rattled off yet another quote, she knew things would be back to normal in no time.

* * *

Next up: "Hot Lips is Back in Town"


	7. Hot Lips is Back in Town

Hawkeye yawned as the senior officers gathered around the table. He really hated it when trivial things like staff meetings interrupted his precious sleep time. He winced slightly as Potter banged the salt shaker to quiet them down.

"Meeting will come to order. Any old business?"

Hawkeye was quick with his regular comeback. "Yeah, can I go home?" From the corner of his eye, he saw the corner of Margaret's mouth turn up, but Potter wasn't amused.

"Get behind Klinger. Any new business?" The meeting droned on as Charles and Potter listed their grievances, but Hawkeye's ears perked up as Radar entered with the mail.

"I move the meeting be adjourned," Hawkeye quipped.

"Second!" BJ could always be counted on for back up. Even Margaret seemed eager to end the meeting as Radar handed her a letter. Hawkeye took his from the kid as she opened hers, and he saw her face morph from anticipation to sorrow. Radar spouted off something about Potter's grandkid, but Hawkeye's attention was focused on the woman across from him.

"I'm divorced," she blurted out. "It's official. This is my final divorce decree. I'm officially divorced." Charles was his usual tactless self, but Hawkeye ignored him.

"Margaret, it's what you wanted, isn't it?" The letter from his father was left unread in his hands. BJ tried to get through to her too, but it took a second for her to register their words. Even the call of wounded didn't pierce her haze, and finally he had to nudge the table a bit to get her to respond.

"Yeah, just can't get over this good news," she said flatly as she rose from the table. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her obvious avoidance of emotion, but he knew by now that it was how she dealt with things initially. When she wanted to talk, she knew he would be there to listen.

In OR, Hawkeye listened from across the room as Charles did his worst at trying to cheer Margaret up. His jibe at her attitude, however, was the last straw.

"Relax, Charles, she's got a bleeder of her own." His tone was light, but the warning was there; leave her alone. She shot him a look over Charles' shoulder that was both grateful and annoyed. He knew she could take care of herself, but he just winked at her and continued stitching his latest wound together.

Somehow, the news of her divorce hadn't softened her at all. In fact, Hawkeye was beginning to feel like the old Major Houlihan was back. She was snappier than usual, demanding absolute perfection from her nurses in the OR and afterward. All of that, along with breaking in a new nurse, meant Hawkeye never had a moment alone with Margaret to discuss anything.

When the news broke that she'd gone behind the Colonel's back and invited a two-star general to the camp for the weekend, everyone was a little on edge. Colonel Potter grumbled about cheeky, upstart head nurses for the rest of the day, Hawkeye and BJ were less than thrilled at the thought of entertaining any brass whatsoever, and Charles was the miserable soul selected to teach the nurses all about triage. So it was with great pleasure – and only a little guilt – that Hawkeye prepared his costume for their crashing of the course. It had been his idea initially just to lighten up the tension that had settled over the nursing staff. They were all extremely nervous about their new duties, and he felt they deserved a little break. Getting BJ to go along with him had taken a little persuading; he didn't necessarily want to risk the wrath of Major Houlihan. But Hawkeye knew that times were desperate, and everyone knew what that meant. He pinned on the last fringe to his outfit and adjusted his hat, ready for his performance.

As expected, their little escapade wasn't well-received by the head nurse. After she ran them out of the mess tent, Hawkeye and BJ quickly changed back into their regular clothes.

"Do you think she's really mad at us?" BJ asked.

"Nah," Hawkeye returned easily. "When she's really mad she gets this little tick above her left eye. She did whack me pretty hard with that pointer though." He rubbed his behind tenderly as his eye caught a flash of blonde storming their way. "Uh oh, Kato," he announced. "We have a Code Red. Major incoming."

"You!" Margaret was fuming as she stormed through the Swamp door and pointed her finger at Hawkeye, then turned it on BJ. "How could you do such a thing? We're trying to prepare the nurses to take on an extremely important responsibility, and all you two can do is make fun!"

"Margaret, we didn't mean any harm," Hawkeye took a step toward her and held out a placating hand. "We were just trying to loosen you girls up a bit; everyone's been on edge lately. They're gonna run themselves ragged trying to do too much."

"Triage isn't something you can learn overnight," BJ added helpfully. "It takes a lot of instruction and even more practice."

"Yes, well, we were doing just fine until you two decided to play dress up. And I don't appreciate being manhandled in front of my staff, buster!" she whirled on Pierce, but he wasn't backing down.

"Listen to yourself, Margaret!" He was letting his temper get the better of him, but not even the warning look from BJ stopped him. "You know who you're starting to sound like?"

"Like an Army Major?" she shot back hotly. "I'll have you know, _Captain_, that I'm damn proud of who I am."

"I guess Hot Lips is back to stay, then," he spat. Instead of the acidic retort he was expecting, she stared at him for a brief moment. Turning on her heel quickly, she didn't even volley a parting shot as she burst out of the tent angrily. "Damn," Hawkeye cursed his own short temper as he watched her go. He started after her, but stopped as BJ called his name.

"You both need time to cool down, Hawk. Just let her go."

Hawkeye looked out into the compound once again before settling down on his bunk to rest. BJ was right; time would cool them down enough to salvage their friendship. He just hoped Margaret wasn't too mad at him to make the attempt.

Between practicing triage and helping out in post op, Hawkeye didn't see Margaret again until Saturday. The general arrived earlier than planned, but just in time for a surprise batch of wounded flooding in. Margaret and her nurses set to their new task immediately, freeing up the doctors to scrub quickly and get ready for surgery. Even Charles had to admit that things seemed to operate more smoothly and efficiently now that the doctors could get into OR more quickly. After the wave died down, Hawkeye caught up with Margaret in the scrub room.

"Listen, Margaret, I need to apologize to you. You were right about your nurses; they were fantastic. _You_ were fantastic. And I'm sorry about what I said earlier." She had her back to him as she untied her surgical gown, but he could see by the way her shoulders relaxed that she wasn't mad at him anymore. When she turned around, she was actually smiling.

"They did do a great job, didn't they? And they learned it all in three days."

"Pretty impressive," he agreed. "How about I buy you a beer at the Officers' Club? To celebrate." It was clear now that whatever storm had been brewing had blown over, and they were back on even water. But as he made his offer, her face fell slightly.

"Oh…I – I can't," she said hastily. "Ly – I mean, General Weiskopf is stopping by to brief me on his report about how the triage went to day."

Hawkeye felt his heart clench at the thought of a man – a general – being alone with Margaret in her tent. It seemed as if – harsh though his words had been – he had been right: Hot Lips was making a comeback. He'd thought she had gotten over this ridiculous obsession with higher ranking men, especially after her failed marriage with Donald the Cheat. But she saw the look in his eyes and interpreted its meaning immediately.

"Oh, don't worry," she reassured him, "he's just briefing me on the report tonight because he has to leave first thing in the morning. That's all."

"Are you sure _he_ knows that?" Hawkeye couldn't stop the words coming out his mouth, and her lips set into a firm line.

"I don't know how it's any of your business, but I thought you knew me better than that."

He stared at her for a long minute before he sighed and helped her untie the gown. "I just don't want to see you get hurt again, Margaret," he said honestly.

She stepped away from him, clearly uncomfortable with his sincere tone. "I can take care of myself, Pierce."

There was no malice in her voice, but he knew she was done talking to him at that moment. He nodded and left her alone to finish changing. Silently, he made his way over to the Officers' Club to re-read the letter his dad had sent a couple of days before. He looked up briefly as Radar came walking through the door with the newest nurse on his arm. The young man was growing up so quickly, and many times Hawkeye felt sorry that the kid didn't have a father at home. There was so much he'd learned from his own father, and he tried to help the kid out when he could. He caught Radar's eye and gave him a knowing grin, which caused the boy's face to flush red. He stammered something and led his date to the other side of the room as Hawkeye returned to his letter.

Sometime later, the doors opened again admitting Margaret into the room. She dodged dancing couples and scanned the room, looking for a friend among the crowd. She found him in the corner, perusing a well-read letter.

"This seat taken?" she asked, amused slightly at his surprised expression.

"It is now," he smirked, regaining his composure quickly. He didn't stand, as a gentleman would when a lady sat at his table, but he did fold his letter and carefully tuck it back into its envelope. "How did the briefing go?" he asked offhandedly, but he could tell by the way her eyes flashed that something had happened.

"You were right," she admitted finally. "Apparently General Weiskopf expected Hot Lips Houlihan in there."

Hawkeye leaned forward in his chair, his eyes a shade darker than their usual vibrant blue. "I'm sorry, Margaret." He hated that his friend had been put in that situation, but he was glad she was here now talking to him about it. "What did you do?"

"I ordered him out of my tent, of course."

His face split in a proud grin as he sat back in his chair. He signaled to Igor for two more beers, which were delivered hastily by a young private.

"Margaret, I don't know if I've ever actually told you, but you are a stronger woman than I am." She rolled her eyes at his joke, but laughed along with him as he handed her a bottle. He lifted his in salute, which she returned thankfully.

"I am pretty marvelous, aren't I?" They drank and talked into the night, until slowly the other people began to trickle out. Finally, it was just the two of them left with Igor.

"Major, Captain, I hate to interrupt, but we're closing now."

Hawkeye checked the time and yawned. "It's almost one a.m.," he declared. "Allow me to walk you to your tent, Major. Who knows what evil lurks about." She elbowed him in the ribs lightly as he tried to drape an arm around her shoulders. He let out a grunt of pain, but she just rolled her eyes and tucked her hand into the crook his elbow.

"Don't be a baby," she joked. "Besides, if anything is out here, it's me who'll protect you."

"Hey, I can't help it if I'm a coward," he returned lightly. They stepped out into the cool night air, each marveling in the calmness that had settled over the camp. "I hate confrontation. How else would you explain me not punching the daylights out of the messenger who gave me my ticket to this wonderful sess pool?" She laughed and leaned into him slightly, not drunk enough to need the support but tipsy enough to pretend like she was.

"I can't believe I'm finally free from that…pig. Why did I marry him again?"

Hawkeye couldn't be sure if she was being serious, but he opted for honesty anyway. "Because you loved him," he said simply. "And at the end of the day, it's the best reason to marry someone." He paused before adding, "I just wish you'd known about his character – or lack thereof – before you married him. You could have saved yourself some heartache."

Margaret nodded, but then thought about it. "If I hadn't married him, I'd have never gotten that 'Dear Darlene' letter." She didn't elaborate, but she didn't have to. Hawkeye knew what she was really saying.

"Margaret, that letter didn't bring us any closer. I may not have always shown it, but you've always had my respect. And I'll always be here if you need me."

"I know, and that's more than I could ever say for dear old Donald." Neither one commented on the fact that she'd just compared him to her ex-husband, but they were both thinking it as he dropped her off at her tent.

"Well, this is your stop, Miss Margaret. We'll have to do this again sometime. Goodnight." He bent over and kissed her cheek softly, attributing it to the alcohol flowing through his system and not the pounding in his heart. She opened her tent door and disappeared inside as Hawkeye retreated to the Swamp. Something was shifting between them, and neither one was sure they were ready for it.

* * *

Next up: "C*A*V*E"


	8. CAVE

I have to say, this is my favorite so far. It was also one of my favorite episodes of the series. Probably why this chapter is so long.

In which things begin to change...

* * *

A cave. Ever since Hawkeye heard about their little hole away from home he'd had an uneasy feeling in his gut. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was sweating buckets in his uniform as he looked into the dank cave.

"How are you holding up?" Margaret's whisper carried through the tunnel, and Hawkeye turned to look at her.

"Oh just dandy," he retorted, folding his arms tighter across his chest. "Everyone okay?"

"All the patients are stable. The move didn't seem to bring up any further complications." She was standing over him clutching a spare blanket, her eyes darting outside every now and then. "Colonel Potter says you have a problem with small spaces."

"Oh you know, just a little irrational claustrophobia. It's nothing I can't handle as long as I stay right here. I go in there I'm bound to collapse under the weight of my own fear." She let out a face-splitting yawn, and he patted the space next to him. "Take a load off, Major." She settled down beside him and draped the blanket over her legs.

"All that shelling and the move wore me out." She yawned again and slid the helmet off her head. "I'm going to lie down and rest. You should sleep with me." He grinned lecherously and raised his brow in surprise. "Not what I meant," she amended quickly.

"I'm alright, Margaret. You get some sleep." She stretched out next to him and sighed. Hawkeye listened as her breathing evened out, his eyes moving from her prone form to the cave beyond. He watched as BJ and Charles moved about effortlessly from patient to patient, and Hawkeye felt a surge of shame. He was a doctor and he couldn't get over his fear long enough to do what he was meant to do.

As he sat there looking in, he felt the ceiling above him looming over his head. His heart rate quickened and his breath started coming in short pants. Quietly, so as not to disturb the woman next to him, he slipped his helmet on and scooted toward the outside. But apparently Margaret wasn't sleeping as deeply as he'd thought, and her hand shot out to grab his arm. There was fear in her eyes when he turned his head back to her, but it was gone just as quickly.

"Where are you going?" her voice was laced with worry, and for a moment Hawkeye forgot about the cave behind them. One look over her shoulder, however, and his instincts kicked back in. But her presence had an odd calming effect on his racing heart, and she managed to convince him to stay close to the cave.

He knew she was curious about exactly why he was afraid of closed in spaces; he could see the question in her eyes. But he easily avoided the topic by joking about reincarnation and turtles.

"Can you imagine me as a turtle, afraid to get into my shell? I'd die of embarrassment, all the other turtles laughing at me in my underwear." She smiled with him, but as soon as he called her brave he saw her face fall. That's when she dropped the bombshell – so to speak.

"I hate shellfire," she confessed, admitting her sensitivity to loud noises.

"So naturally you join the Army," he joked. He couldn't believe it. He knew from their time in the hut that she didn't like shellfire, but he'd probably be hard-pressed to find anyone in Korea who enjoyed it. He had figured at the time that it was the proximity of the shelling, the fear of imminent death, that had scared her so much. But sitting here now, trying to convince her that they were okay, he saw how terrified she really was.

A particularly close explosion drove her into his arms, and he held her against him tightly as she shivered.

"I've got you," he whispered, just as BJ exited the cave with two mugs of coffee.

"I can't leave you two in the backseat of anything," he quipped. Margaret didn't release her hold on him right away, but gradually the coffee and conversation kept their minds off of what was happening around them.

"Hawkeye!" one of the nurses ran to the edge of the cave looking worried. "Private Lovett's blood pressure is dropping." BJ stood to take care of it, but Hawkeye had had enough.

"No wait a minute," he said sharply. "I'm a doctor and he's my patient. Let me try."

Margaret laid a hand on his shoulder. "Are you sure?" The concern for him was evident in her tone.

"Of course not." He stood up and walked to the entrance. "Just stay with me," he told BJ. "Not too close," he added hastily. Two minor episodes later, he was standing outside with Margaret and BJ looking on worriedly. Lovett needed help now, and there was only one place to do the operation safely. The thought of getting away from the cave and back to the camp was enough to calm his nerves, despite the artillery exploding around them. But when Margaret volunteered to go with him, his heart started pounding away again.

"Margaret, stay here where's it's quieter," he reasoned. _And safer_, he added mentally. But she was persistent, and Hawkeye looked out into the darkness as Margaret retrieved her helmet and bag. They packed a jeep quickly and secured Lovett's gurney to the back. Margaret was going to have to drive so he could keep an eye on the patient, and he just hoped she would be okay driving _toward_ shellfire.

As they got closer to the unit, Hawkeye could see Margaret's skin color fading, even in the darkness. Her eyes were wide and moving about rapidly, and her breath was coming in shallow gasps. He had to take her mind off of it or she was going to hyperventilate and collapse. He racked his brain for a really good story or anecdote, even a joke would work, but he couldn't come up with anything. Finally, as he saw the white-knuckle grip she had on the steering wheel, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"When I was four my uncle locked me in a closet." His voice was quiet, but he could tell by the way she relaxed instantly that she'd heard him.

"What?"

"Oh, not on purpose," he amended. "I had snuck into his room to get something, I don't remember what. The night before, my cousin Billy had dared me to go get it but I wouldn't so he called me a chicken. Well, I was four and Billy was ten, so when he called me a baby I got upset. So I got up really early in the morning and snuck into my uncle's room. But my uncle had started to wake up, so I hid in the closet really quick so he wouldn't see me. He got up, got dressed, then went downstairs, only he had shut the closet door on the way out. I tried screaming and banging on the door, but no one heard. I couldn't reach the handle really well, and it was pitch black."

"How long were you stuck in there?" she asked, and Hawkeye was glad to see her breathing had returned to normal.

"I don't know, an hour? Maybe less. But to me it was weeks. Billy was the one who found me. I was crying and hysterical, but they eventually calmed me down." He turned to check on Lovett once more as Margaret made the last turn on their way back to camp.

"You must have been terrified. But I guess that explains your fear." Even out of the corner of her eye, she didn't miss the look that told her there was more, but she ignored it as they passed under their "Best Care Anywhere" sign. She pulled up to OR and jumped out of the jeep, her mind hyper-vigilant for any shellfire that was louder than the others. She helped Hawkeye haul the litter into the operating room, then they took turns scrubbing as they put him under.

Two hours and one operation later, they were grinning as they carried Lovett into post op. The shelling had stopped some time ago, and they wondered how long it would take for the rest of their unit to come home.

"It's really quiet now," Hawkeye noted as they hooked up an IV.

"Don't jinx it," Margaret shot back, nudging his arm with her elbow as they worked. "I think he'll be okay for the night. You wanna see what's left in the mess tent?" Hawkeye shot her a look and jotted something down on the clipboard.

"And ruin this perfect evening? I'll pass." He walked around and collapsed on the next cot over. He felt Margaret sit on the edge as he threw an arm over his eyes. "Now we rest safe in the knowledge that the ceiling won't close on us."

"Close?" she found his choice of words odd, and she saw his jaw muscles tense up.

"Close, collapse, I'm so tired I'm mixing up my words."

She reached out and took his hand, pulling his arm from his face. "No, it wasn't a mix up. Out there, just before we got here, you had a look in your eye. There's more to this claustrophobia than an hour spent locked in a closet." He exploded to his feet and stalked away from her, but she remained seated on the bed.

"Leave it, Margaret." There was a dark warning in his words, but they weren't threatening. He was hurting, and she knew if she dropped it now they could go on pretending nothing happened. But if there was one thing she'd learned from him, it was when to pry.

"Hawkeye…" when he didn't respond, she tried another tactic. "Ben." That stopped him and he turned on her.

"Don't," he choked out, and she could see the war in his blue eyes. "I can't…" Her heart broke for him as he walked back over to her.

"You can't just pretend you're not affected by this," she said. "All the times you persuaded me to talk it out, and now you're running. Well it's my turn to be the annoying, persistent friend." When he was close enough she grabbed his hand and squeezed. Margaret felt a surge of hope as he squeezed back, and she stood next to him to offer him her strength. His eyes darted to their patient, then to her face. Wordlessly, he tugged on her hand to lead her away from the sleeping man. Just through the door was Radar's neat but chaotic office, and the swinging doors stuttered closed behind them. They settled back against the clerk's cot, their hands still clasped together, and Hawkeye leaned his head back against the wall.

"When I was ten," he said finally, his throat working to fight back the emotion she heard in his voice. "My mom got sick," he tried again. "She was gone before I even knew anything was wrong. Dad tried to hide her condition from me, so her death seemed so sudden. I knew she was sick, and she'd gone into the hospital, but Dad kept saying everything was going to be okay." Margaret scooted closer so their bodies were touching from shoulders to toes, and the hand that was still in his tightened in support.

"After she died, I didn't speak to anyone, not even my Dad. I was angry, especially at him. He'd lied to me, and my mom was gone. The funeral was a week later, and I knew everyone was worried about me. I just sat in the front pew, not really seeing where I was. My dad said a few words, but he was such a wreck he only got a few words out before he broke down. I still didn't really register what was happening; I just kept staring at the casket, at my mom's face." His head was back and his eyes were closed, but Margaret could see him fighting tears. That shook her deeply; in all the time she'd known Hawkeye she couldn't recall seeing him cry.

"When the service was over, everyone walked up and paid their respects. Still I didn't move. When they were done, everyone filed out into the foyer to prepare for the graveside service. I wouldn't budge, wouldn't respond to anyone, I just kept looking at my mom. She was so beautiful." A small smile graced his face, and he took a shuddering breath before he continued.

"Dad left to talk to the priest, and I just kept staring at her. She looked so peaceful, like she was sleeping, so I got up and walked over to her." Sensing the worst part was coming, Margaret kissed his shoulder and laid her head down on the same spot. Tears were streaming down her face, but she was going to stay strong for him.

"At first, I tried shaking her to wake her up, like I would if I had a nightmare. When that didn't work, I did what I always did…I climbed into bed with her."

"Oh, Ben," Margaret whispered. She saw his jaw clench and his eyes squeeze tighter. Lifting her free hand, she ran it tenderly down his face. Finally the tears spilled from his eyes, but she caught them and gently wiped them away.

"I laid down with her, Margaret. She wouldn't wake up, so I just laid with her. But I guess I jostled the casket too much, and the lid slammed shut." Her heart seized with grief over the trauma he'd gone through, and marveled at how strong he was being now.

"I guess that kind of woke me up," he continued, "and I realized where I was. I started screaming. Not the scared kind of screaming like in the closet. This was sheer terror. Of course, everyone had heard and rushed back inside, and Dad opened the lid and pulled me out. I was hysterical, calling for my mom, screaming at my dad. I told him it was his fault I didn't get to say goodbye to her, and that I hated him."

"Well, your reaction was understandable. I'm sure he didn't blame you."

"No, he didn't. We made up later, when I'd calmed down. We actually got closer after that. I was holding on to the one parent I had left, and he was clinging to the only thing of her he still had. As I grew up, it got easier for us to talk about her. Every year, on her birthday, we still just sit and tell stories and kiss her picture." Margaret wondered briefly what it was like to have that kind of relationship with a parent, but she shook the thought away. Tonight was not about her; she was here to help her friend.

"Well, I know I'm not your father, but if you ever want to tell me about her, I would love to listen." He took a deep, cleansing breath and opened his eyes. They were bright blue and still wet from the tears, but she could see the calm behind the storm that was slowly settling.

"You're something else, Margaret Houlihan." He leaned down and kissed her softly, and she was unsurprised when he tried to deepen it. She responded to him, pulling him down to lie next to her on the cot, never breaking their connection. His hands roamed her body and her legs intertwined with his as she allowed him to find some sort of anchor in her. After a few heated moments he pulled away.

"As much as I'm probably going to hate myself for this later, I don't feel right taking advantage like this." She opened her mouth to protest, but his finger across her lips silenced her. "No, Margaret, please. You are probably the dearest friend I've ever had, and I'd never forgive myself if I ever gave you any reason to doubt my sincerity regarding our relationship, as it were."

"Which is what, exactly?" Her tone wasn't mean-spirited, nor was it pressuring. It was an open and honest question, and when he looked at her there were no jokes or smirks to hide behind.

"Friendship," he said, dipping his head slightly to kiss her, "and more, too. We've found something here, Margaret, that's special and singularly indefinable. Our relationship is…us."

"I like you this way," she told him honestly. "No deflecting jokes, no bawdy humor."

"And I like you this way," he returned. "Not yelling at me." She chuckled and slapped him on the shoulder lightly. "You're relaxed, free. I know I've never really said it, but I hope you know you don't always have to be 'Major Houlihan' with me."

"And you don't always have to be 'Hawkeye Pierce' with me," she said. His hair had fallen across his forehead, and she reached up and brushed it back quickly.

"You know, you are the only person other than my mother who has ever called me Ben. It was always Hawkeye or Pierce. Or, in the case of my grandmother, Benjamin Franklin. I never understood why that woman used both names all the time." He lifted his voice into a high falsetto. "Benjamin Franklin, come in for dinner. Benjamin Franklin, go upstairs and wash up. Benjamin Franklin, get out of my dress." Margaret burst out laughing at that, but her laughter was interrupted by a yawn.

"We should probably get some sleep. The others will probably be back tomorrow, and we'll have to help them get everything settled again." She rose from the cot and offered a hand, hoisting his lanky frame up beside her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they shuffled back into post op. Private Lovett was sleeping soundly, so the two of them each took a bed and collapsed rather ungracefully.

"Goodnight Margaret," Hawkeye mumbled, his voice already heavy with sleep.

"Goodnight Ben," she returned, watching as a small smile graced his features as they both dozed off.

* * *

Next up: "Preventative Medicine"


	9. Preventative Medicine

Thanks to everyone who reviewed so far! It brightens my day to get those wonderful notifications. This is for y'all!

* * *

Hawkeye scowled into his breakfast as BJ and Potter sat down at the table. Neither one said anything to the young doctor, but they shared a look over his head. Finally, BJ couldn't take his mood anymore.

"Hawk? You know glaring at your food isn't going to scare it into tasting better." Potter chuckled, but Hawkeye just stood up. "Hey, everything alright?"

"Yeah, fine," he shot back, grabbing his still-full tray. The two men watched their friend scrape the food into the bin and toss the tray down before stalking back to the Swamp.

"Is he that upset over losing Rosieland last week?" Potter joked. BJ shook his head and took a sip of lukewarm coffee.

"Nah, that can't be it. I mean, sure we had one hell of a night, but Hawkeye knew it wasn't going to last. Honestly, Colonel, I think it has more to do with one of our guests that night." At the older man's look, BJ sighed and leaned forward. "You have to promise not to get upset or tell anyone you know." Potter nodded, knowing that BJ wouldn't be asking if it weren't important. "Well, there was a sergeant from the front lines there, AWOL from his unit."

"AWOL?" the surprise in the Colonel's voice was obvious, but BJ continued quickly.

"Yeah, well, Margaret convinced him to go back to his unit, so I'm not sure he even got in trouble. But Hawkeye – and probably everyone else in there – couldn't help but notice he spent an awful lot of cozy time with Major Houlihan."

"Ah," Potter said, catching on, "And Pierce is none too keen on the man."

"I don't understand those two," BJ shook his head. "Different as night and day, but best friends."

"And more?" Potter wondered aloud. He'd always had a funny inkling where those two were concerned, but didn't think anything of it. Houlihan had been so staunchly military when he'd arrived that he assumed she and the Chief Surgeon would never be anything more than begrudging friends. But lately they'd gotten quite close, and Potter wondered if it had anything to do with their little adventure some months back.

"Maybe," BJ answered his question with a sigh. "Hawk won't talk about it; he says Margaret and he are just friends as always. But there's something there."

"Well, they haven't been at each other's throats, so I'm not going to interfere. Whatever they've worked out, it's made them a better team." BJ agreed and the topic turned to more pleasant things as the men finished their breakfast, but a flood of wounded interrupted them. Hawkeye burst from the Swamp shrugging on his robe as he ran. It didn't take long for everyone to scramble into their positions.

OR was tiring and grueling, but they managed to make it through the third wave of Colonel Lacy's troops in record time…23 hours. Hawkeye was very nearly sleepwalking back to the Swamp to collapse in his bed, passing right by Margaret on his way. She offered him a friendly smile, but he just looked at her with tired eyes and walked right past her. BJ didn't miss the hurt look that overtook her features for a brief moment, but he was too tired to deal with it now.

Colonel Lacy's appearance did nothing to settle the tension between the Head Nurse and Chief Surgeon. In fact, the way Margaret began fawning over the silver clusters made Hawkeye's blood boil. Added on top of Lacy's grating attitude, Pierce was at the end of his rope by the day's end. So when Margaret showed up at the Swamp door, he had very little to say to her.

"Look, I'm tired, hungry, and to top it off I have to deal with a ward full of patients who hate their commanding officer who just so happens to be our special guest of dishonor this week. I'd really rather not say anything tonight that either of us will regret in the morning." She stared at him for a moment before laying a hand on his shoulder.

"I understand," she told him. "If you want to talk…" she left the invitation open and walked out the door. Hawkeye turned his head to watch her walk across the compound. He felt bad about disregarding her, but he was still smarting from her night with Scully. And the way she practically threw herself at Lacy that morning in post-op hadn't endeared her to him either. So he let her go, flopping back onto his cot in exhaustion.

Margaret tossed her uniform away in a fit of frustration as she changed for the night. It seemed every time she and Hawkeye took a step forward in their relationship, something came along and shoved them four steps back. After the night he talked about his mother's death, she'd begun to feel something stirring in her. She didn't know what it was, but she knew that there was no way she would risk her heart and their friendship over it. So she'd taken the first opportunity to try and forget about it. Fortunately – or unfortunately, depending on how one looked at it – Jack Scully was the perfect distraction.

She wasn't blind to the way the sergeant's attention had affected Hawkeye. But she convinced herself that Hawkeye's reactions meant nothing more than one friend looking out for another. Her emotions scared her; she was too raw from Donald to even think about caring for someone like that again. So she resorted to her old ways once again, trying to drive away her feelings. The problem was, it seemed that he'd been driven away with them.

As she lay down to sleep, she tossed and turned with her thoughts, trying to work out how to fix things without complicating their friendship. In the end she gave up, surrendering herself to a fitful slumber.

She was still reeling from her discovery of Lacy's true colors when she reported for her shift in post op the next day. Hawkeye's mood had improved after some rest, and they even joked a bit before Lacy came in and ruined everything. And then MacAvoy had taken a turn for the worse, and she watched as Hawkeye battled for the young man's life.

She had to admit she'd never seen a doctor more dedicated or determined when a patient's life was at stake. She had personally seen him stick his arm inside a patient's chest to massage a heart back to life, and even amid shellfire his instinct to heal outweighed his own survival. He was the epitome of what doctors should be, and many times she'd thanked the Lord that he was here at this camp. They were lucky to have him, despite his insubordination, and as MacAvoy began breathing on his own she grinned proudly at Hawkeye.

"Good job, Doctor," she said, patting him on the shoulder. He took a deep breath and looked at his friends.

"I'm gonna step into Radar's office for some coffee. Be right back." The tone of his voice suggested he was going to do a bit more than that, but neither of them wanted to stop him from confronting the Lieutenant Colonel about walking out so suddenly.

"I should probably get in there with him before he does something stupid," BJ said. "Shift's over anyway, can you handle things until Charles gets here?" She shot him a mirthful glare, and he held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, gotta ask. We have a Head Nurse who's a real stickler for the rules." He finished getting the young soldier settled before joining his friend. Margaret returned her full attention to the patients, noting how much more relaxed the atmosphere was now that Lacy was gone.

Just over two hours later, the doors opened and two corpsmen carried a litter in. Hawkeye followed closely, monitoring the man lying on it. Margaret rushed over, shocked to see Colonel Lacy's unconscious form. She asked the question with her eyes and Hawkeye sighed wearily.

"Appendicitis," he said simply, ushering the corpsmen to the empty bed. He didn't elaborate, or even make any jokes regarding the Colonel's condition. Margaret watched him as he methodically set up the IV and filled out the form on the clipboard hanging at the end of the bed. Something was different about him, but she shook it off as fatigue.

"He'll be fine now," she told him. "He's lucky he was here. And I'm proud of you."

He whirled on her with a strange look. "Why?" She took an involuntary step back at his tone, but lifted her chin and replied.

"For putting your feelings for him aside to operate on him."

"I operate on the enemy all the time," he replied shortly. "I'm going back to the Swamp. Call me if there are any complications." She watched him go, her face screwed up in confusion. Something was wrong with him, and it wasn't until after the 13 hour stint in OR that she found out.

"It was strange," she overheard Kellye talking to the other nurses as she filled her coffee mug in the mess tent. "I thought Captain Pierce didn't like Colonel Lacy, but he invited him back to the Swamp and served him drinks." A cold chill ran down Margaret's spine, but she refused to acknowledge it.

"It was just lucky he was with Hawkeye when his appendix burst," Able added. "I wonder why Captain Pierce didn't ask a nurse to assist him, though." Margaret's mug shattered on the ground as her muscles slackened in shock; despite his disdain for Army regulations, there was no way Pierce would operate alone unless he absolutely had to...or he was hiding something. Without bothering to clean up her mess, she bolted from the tent and into post-op. Despite their long session in OR, she was wide awake as she opened the blood storage container. Colonel Lacy had donated some blood when he'd arrived; a "good will" gesture that she'd found admirable at the time. Now she wondered if the older man didn't feel a little guilt over what he'd put those boys through. But she shook her thoughts clear as she drew a small sample from the unit and rushed to the lab.

"Oh my God," she whispered as she slid away from the microscope. According to the lab test -which she'd performed three times to be absolutely sure - Lacy's white blood count was normal. If he'd had even the beginnings of acute appendicitis, the white cell count would be through the roof. Pierce had lied, and had operated on a healthy man. She cleaned up quickly before storming out the door and into the Swamp.

"Where's Captain Pierce?" she demanded.

BJ looked up sharply at the use of his friend's rank to find a very agitated Major. "Hawkeye's not here. As a matter of fact I don't know where he is. Margaret, are you alright?" He put his letter down and stood.

"No, I'm not alright. I just found out some very disturbing news regarding Captain Pierce and Colonel Lacy." She stared hard at him for a moment. "I'm not even sure what to think right now, BJ." Her hard demeanor deflated instantly and she sunk down onto Hawkeye's bed.

"I know how you feel, Margaret."

Instantly, she shot up from the bunk. "You knew? You knew and you didn't stop him!"

"I tried!" he shouted back. "He was so goddamned determined to be a self-righteous hero, nothing penetrated his brain!"

She backed down but didn't sit, preferring instead to pace around the small space. "I just…he's the best of us, you know?" She still had trouble believing Hawkeye Pierce could cut into a healthy person for no reason. No medical reason, anyway.

"He did it save those boys," BJ reasoned. "I'm not saying I agree with him, but Colonel Lacy was going to defy orders and take those boys up that hill tomorrow."

"Then you should have reported him to Colonel Potter!" Margaret fired back. "Not cut into him like an animal."

BJ sat defeated on his bed. "I know I should have gone to Potter, hell I probably should have done more to stop him. But a part of me? A part of me agreed with him."

Margaret knew the dangers of war, how intense situations could cloud judgment and impair thinking. God knew they'd been in an intense situation for quite awhile now, none of them longer than her and Pierce. But that was no excuse.

"No," she returned firmly. "Nothing gives him the right." And with that she was gone, leaving BJ alone with his thoughts. She was scowling on the way back to her tent, sending enlisted men scrambling to get out of her way. Her lights were off but she knew her way around so well that she undressed in the dark. Only when she moved toward her bed did she hear the shuffling, the telltale sound of someone in her tent. Her heart started racing and her whole body coiled to respond to the threat. It wasn't until she heard the ragged intake of breath and the whisper of her name that she identified her visitor.

"Pierce?" Her arm shot out to turn on the light. He was sitting hunched over on her bunk, head in his hands and elbows on his knees. When he looked up at her, she gasped at the lost look in his eyes.

"I just…I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come in here. But BJ's back in the Swamp and I can't really…" he trailed off, and Margaret knew he was struggling. But the image of Colonel Lacy lying in post op flooded her vision and she set her jaw.

"Why?" her voice was hard, and the surprise in his eyes was evident. "How could you do that? I thought you were better than that! The infallible Doctor Pierce, unwavering in his ethics."

He stood up frantically, his expression panicked and flighty. He'd come in here to escape the torment and guilt, but she was just piling it on. "It has to stop," he said to her, repeating his argument with BJ. "You don't know what he was going to do, how many men he was going to send home in a box." His anger was returning, and he answered her defiant tone with his own.

"And what if he'd developed complications? Or an infection?"

His eyes dropped briefly, but when he caught her gaze again there was fire in his eyes. "Don't," he spat. "Don't get all righteous on me. I saved over a hundred lives tonight with a simple procedure, by removing an _extraneous_ organ."

"_Me_ get righteous? Are you listening to yourself? And don't try to rationalize this with me. You took an oath, Pierce, to heal the sick and do no harm. What you did was wrong!" She stepped toward him and for a brief instant he thought she was going to hit him, but she just clenched her fists at her sides.

"I know," his whole body deflated and he slumped back against the wall next to the door. She hadn't expected him to give in so easily, and his distress unnerved her so much that she almost missed his next words. "And I'm probably never going to forgive myself. But there are a hundred young men who have a better chance to get home than they did yesterday. So I'll have to live with that and hope it's enough." He looked at her and his fingers twitched, itching to pull her to him for some comfort. But he knew she wasn't offering any right now, so he stayed still.

"I just…" her gaze was hard as they locked eyes. "I thought you were better that that."

"Margaret –"

"Get out." Her tone brooked no argument, but Hawkeye Pierce had never been one to heed prudent warnings when they were given.

"Margaret, no, let's talk about this." This time he did reach for her, but she slapped his hand away.

"No, Pierce, I'm serious. You're lucky I don't go to Colonel Potter. But we've been through too much together, and you're obviously enduring enough punishment having to live with this. I just…I don't know if _I_ can live with it." He didn't budge for a moment. "Please leave, Captain, before I call the MP's and have you removed." She gestured for the door and he took his cue. But she didn't miss the look in his eyes as he walked away – a look she knew all too well: heartbreak.

* * *

Next up: "The Yalu Brick Road"


	10. The Yalu Brick Road

Several weeks passed by, and there wasn't a soul at the 4077th who didn't notice the change in both their Head Nurse and Chief Surgeon. Margaret Houlihan was slowly shifting back into Major Houlihan, and the nurses were complaining about something new every week. She wasn't a tyrant, as she had been that first year, but her temper was short with most people and even shorter with one in particular. She was still reeling from Hawkeye's misstep and, though they worked well in OR, it was rare to see her hanging around him off duty anymore.

Hawkeye, for his part, had reverted back to the playboy he'd been when Trapper was around. He hit on all the nurses relentlessly, desperate to try and find some solid ground in the torrent. He'd almost recovered from losing Margaret's friendship when Radar left unexpectedly.

"Why can't people say a simple goodbye around here?" he ranted at BJ after coming into the Swamp to find Radar's teddy bear lying innocently on his cot. The bear now held a place of honor on his shelves, but Hawkeye was drowning himself in whatever horrible concoction that came out of the still.

"He tried, Hawk," BJ said sympathetically. "We just got bombarded at the worst possible time. And he did stop by OR to wave goodbye." Hawkeye remembered pausing in his procedure to salute the young corporal, a military act he'd only presented a handful of times in sincerity.

"Yeah, well," Hawkeye really had no other argument, so he settled back on his bunk and downed the drink in one swallow. "Just like mother used to make. I'll have another, Jeeves." BJ poured him another, grimacing as Hawkeye gulped that one down, too.

"Take it easy, champ." Hawkeye rolled his eyes and set the glass down on the table. BJ watched him close his eyes and take deep breaths, and wondered if his friend was fighting back tears. He'd seen his friend display every passionate emotion under the sun, but he'd never seen him cry.

"You alright, Hawk?"

"I'll be fine, just…leave me alone for a while, huh?" BJ nodded, knowing his silence was enough confirmation.

The weeks passed by and Hawkeye slowly returned to normal. He left the nurses alone (for the most part), and BJ felt relief that he was finally getting his best friend back. Things between him and Margaret were still awkward, but they were okay as long as someone else was there with them. BJ had made the mistake of trying to leave them alone in the Swamp to work things out, and returned to find Hawkeye trashing his side of the tent as Margaret stormed away in a fury.

As Thanksgiving approached, Potter called everyone into the mess tent for a meeting. As per usual, Margaret joined Charles on one side of the table as Hawkeye and BJ sank down onto the bench across from them. Father Mulcahy joined them a moment later, taking a seat next to BJ.

"Alright everyone," Potter banged the sugar on the table. "I called you all here for some good news. I just got off the horn with I-CORPS, and there's a temporary cease fire on. Looks like we're in for a quiet Thanksgiving holiday tomorrow." Cheers went up, and Potter held his hands up. "Hold your horses." They settled down and he took a deep breath. "Now, it so happens that the 8063rd is short a nurse and a surgeon due to a cold bug, so I'm temporarily assigning Majors Houlihan and Winchester to assist them."

"So it's gonna be a _really_ quiet Thanksgiving," Hawkeye joked, earning him a glare from Margaret and a scathing sneer from Charles.

"Don't get all primped up, Pierce, I have an errand for you two, too. It seems the Korean Battalion Aid in Kunsan needs some help as well, and being the fair, magnanimous leader I am, I decided to let you two handle that. Everyone leaves tomorrow morning, bright and early. And I wanna see smiles on those faces!" Everyone groaned their compliance, and Potter grinned. "That's more like it."

"Colonel," Father Mulcahy stood up with him to talk about his holiday plans. The four remaining officers watched them walk out the door before turning to each other.

"So much for a quiet holiday," Hawkeye sighed. "Come on, Beej, we better go pack." They all split up to get ready for the morning, and Margaret watched curiously as Hawkeye said something quickly to BJ then jogged to Klinger's office instead of the Swamp. The look on BJ's face was enough to spark Margaret's interest, and she quickly maneuvered through post-op to find out what was going on. When she arrived at the double doors that led to Klinger's newly acquired office, she peered through the windows. Hawkeye was on the phone, waiting by the looks of it, and she was about to walk in when she heard her name.

"Yeah, Major Houlihan and Major Winchester, they'll be coming out there tomorrow." The person on the other end said something and Hawkeye shook his head. "No, I don't want to talk to your CO, he already knows about it. I just want to make sure you guys aren't gonna bug out from underneath us again. The last time we made that little trip there was no welcoming committee." He listened again, and Margaret was torn between feeling indignant at his audacity or touched by his concern.

"Yeah, okay, I was just checking. Have a happy Thanksgiving. Bye." He hung up the phone and stood, forcing Margaret to duck back into post-op, but not before she heard Hawkeye telling Klinger to keep that phone call to himself. She checked on a few patients to give him enough time to get back to the Swamp, then she left to go pack.

If Margaret had been aware of what awaited her back at her own camp, she might have stayed one more night at the 8063rd. A salmonella outbreak wasn't exactly the welcome home she was expecting, but almost immediately her training kicked in and she commanded her two troops as efficiently as she could.

Between changing sheets, cleaning bed pans, and escorting patients to and from the latrines, Margaret hardly noticed the time flying by. Despite one altercation with a pompous Major, she felt confident that they would make it through this epidemic. It wasn't until lunchtime came and went that she noticed the absence of Hawkeye and BJ.

"Klinger," she shook the clerk gently, watching as his eyes opened groggily. He still looked a little green, but she hoped he was coherent enough to answer a few questions. "Klinger wake up."

"I don't want to go to school today, Mom." His speech was mumbled and his eyes were unfocused, but Margaret couldn't afford to wait. Adopting her best commanding tone, she shook him a little more harshly.

"Corporal, eyes open soldier!" He snapped into focus and sat up a little straighter in bed, and Margaret had to lean away quickly to avoid a collision of heads.

"Major?"

"Yes Corporal, I apologize for interrupting your rest, but Colonel Potter is completely unconscious and I need to know how long ago you spoke to Captains Pierce and Hunnicutt. They aren't back yet and I need to know when I can expect some help." He thought for a moment, then checked the clock.

"Oh my gosh," he exclaimed, "that was over six hours ago. Battalion Aid said they'd be here in three to four. You haven't heard from them?" Margaret's heart skipped a few beats, but she didn't show any outward sign of her concern.

"No, I haven't, but I'm sure they're fine. Pierce probably took a shortcut." Klinger chuckled a little at that and flopped back down onto the bed.

"If they're not here by nightfall, you should report them missing." His speech was beginning to slur again, so she just covered him up and patted his shoulder.

"We'll see," she said softly, but he'd already drifted back to sleep. She stood and walked back into post-op, all the while trying to convince herself that they were alright.

Hawkeye glared at BJ for the millionth time since he'd wrecked and gotten them completely lost. His glare softened for a moment at the thought of the last time he was lost in the wilds of Korea, and he promptly giggled to himself. BJ shot him a worried look, but Hawkeye ignored him. It was his fault they were lost – let him wonder.

"Ralph, you still with us?" he looked back at their traveling buddy. The North Korean soldier was still following obediently, his rifle slung on his shoulder and his hands raised up every time they looked back at him.

"We've got to be getting close to something," BJ said unnecessarily. "A town, a village…hell I'll settle for a hovel." The antibiotics they were carrying were getting heavy, but they couldn't risk resting now and getting stuck outside after dark. Neither of them had a watch, but high noon had come and gone a while ago. If they didn't find help soon, they were going to have to start searching for a place to spend the night.

Hawkeye's mind wandered back to the last time he was stuck out in the middle of nowhere. Granted, the last time his traveling companion was a little easier on the eyes, but BJ didn't talk quite as much. Of course, right now Hawkeye could have used the distraction.

As he got lost in thought, he began wondering what Margaret was doing at that moment. She and Charles were probably back from the 8063rd by now – at least he hoped they were. Was she concerned about their absence or was she too inundated with sick people? Was she looking for them or even thinking of them? They hadn't been on the best terms recently, but Hawkeye hoped that she would be at least a little worried about him. He'd faced death a few times today, and each time he survived hope swelled a little in his heart. He had to get back to the 4077th if for no other reason than to talk to Margaret, apologize to her, and try to get her to be his friend again. God forbid, if something did happen to him, he'd hate for her last memories of him to be of anger.

He sighed heavily, berating himself for such morbid thoughts. He sent up a silent hope that she wasn't dwelling on such things right now. BJ glanced sidelong at him but didn't say anything. Hawkeye saw him open his mouth a few times to start, but each time he shut it again.

As they came round a bend in the trail, they spotted an overturned cart. His eyes noticed the figure trapped beneath it, and his training kicked in. He and BJ rushed to help the poor old farmer, enlisting Ralph's help to pull the man from under the wreckage.

Two hours later they were careening down a dirt road on a motorcycle that he was certain even the Side Tricks wouldn't be seen on. Ralph was hanging on for dear life on the back while Hawkeye sat helpless in the side car. They'd managed to get very sketchy directions to Uijeongbu, and Hawkeye had to scream a few times over the whipping wind for BJ to make the correct turns.

Finally they found the road that led home, and as they roared into camp Hawkeye almost laughed at the sight before him. Charles was hanging linens up on a line, and BJ couldn't stop in time. There was a flurry of white as sheets flew, and Hawkeye breathed a sigh of relief as Margaret's voice screamed across the compound.

"Did you bring the antibiotics?" She ran to the motorcycle, and Hawkeye couldn't help the joke that slipped from his mouth.

"Margaret, did you miss me?" His tone was mocking, but the look in his eyes wasn't. Her return glare wasn't hard, and Hawkeye saw something in her eyes that made the hope inside him grow a bit more. She had been worried, though she'd probably never admit it even to him. He also saw how tired she was and realized for the first time she was probably running the whole show herself. She and Father Mulcahy unloaded the medicine and rushed to deliver it as Hawkeye and BJ got out and stretched.

"Get over to post-op, post haste," Potter commanded. He was upright, which probably meant the worst of the illness was over. But the two doctors hurried over anyway, dragging their Korean tagalong behind them.

Dusk was settling over them as they left post-op. Ralph had been taken to the VIP tent by some MP's, and a Korean translator had explained everything to the young man who seemed so happy to be in the hands of the enemy. Hawkeye and BJ showered quickly, ate a semi-decent dinner – minus any turkey – and collapsed exhausted in the Swamp. BJ was face down and snoring by the time Hawkeye found enough energy to roll over. He used his momentum to stand up, his hands fumbling for his jacket and shoes.

Margaret and Charles had been ordered to bed almost immediately after they'd returned, so she was probably sleeping comfortably. But his thoughts from before kept gnawing at him, and he couldn't stand it anymore. He walked quickly and quietly to Margaret's door, knocking softly. There was no answer and her light wasn't on, but Hawkeye just shook his head and opened the door.

She was asleep, as he knew she probably would be. She didn't even stir when he stepped inside, and the fading twilight cast just enough light into the room for him to make his way over to her bed and sit down. Her hair was still up from her running around before, and he wondered briefly if she'd even showered or eaten anything before she laid down.

"I wish you'd talk to me," he whispered. "I miss the way things were." He brushed a stray lock of blonde hair away from her face, resisting the urge to trace the contours of her cheek with his fingers. Slowly and carefully, he reached over and freed her hair from the knot, smiling at the sigh she released automatically. She'd toed her boots off by her bed, but hadn't bothered actually turning down the covers. He debated almost a full minute before remembering how cold the nights got in autumn.

"Margaret, I'm going to get you under the covers. Please don't wake up and kill me." It took several minutes and a lot of maneuvering, but finally she was snugly underneath the blankets. She hadn't woken up at all, and Hawkeye marveled at her ability to keep up her normal pace while being so physically depleted. Her body was catching up now, it seemed, and as complete darkness fell over them Hawkeye leaned down and kissed her forehead.

"Goodnight, Margaret." And with one last look at her shadowed face, he slipped out of her tent quietly.

* * *

Next up: "Bottle Fatigue"


	11. Bottle Fatigue

Hawkeye yawned and stretched as he got out of bed. His first morning on the wagon was an early one, and as he pulled his bathrobe on he smirked at his two sleeping bunkmates. No doubt they would be surly and grouchy when they awoke later, but right now Hawkeye was marveling at how refreshed and clear-headed he felt.

After a shower and a shave, he stepped out into the fresh morning air and took a deep breath. He didn't have a watch, but he guessed it was still early; no one was moving about yet. The sun was rising over the mountains and he sat down on a folding chair to marvel at the sight. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a sunrise. It was probably before his mother had died, he realized, and he just sat there and watched as the dawn gave way to the morning. After a while of letting the sun glare down on him, Hawkeye stood and walked back to the showers. One more wouldn't hurt.

He almost made it through the day without snapping at someone, and when he did he immediately regretted it. Margaret gave him a warning look mixed with sympathy, and he apologized.

"It's alright," she forgave him instantly, knowing what a shock his body was going through as it cleansed itself of alcohol. "Just don't let it happen again, Captain." There was a teasing note to her tone, and Hawkeye smiled at her as he continued his rounds.

The next morning, he awoke as early as the day before, only this time there was a glass of water and two aspirin sitting on his bedside table. Potter had said something the night before about taking something to help with the withdrawal headaches, and Hawkeye thanked the old man silently as he gulped them down.

After snapping at BJ over a pen and griping about the stench in post-op, Hawkeye stalked away in a horrible mood. His mind screamed at him to just have one quick glass to take the edge off, but right before he reached the Swamp he detoured quickly toward the makeshift basketball court. He stripped down to his t-shirt and grabbed the ball from the footlocker where it was stored. For two solid hours he dribbled, ran, and shot until he collapsed from exhaustion. Now and then, one or two people would stop and watch him for a moment before resuming their business. Margaret and BJ even stopped by after their shift in post-op and passed the ball around with him for a while, but both gave up after it was clear that he was going to outlast them.

"Well," he told himself as he donned his olive green jacket, "2 for 7,000 ain't bad." He stowed the ball away and very nearly crawled toward the showers to clean up before lunch. After a horrible meal that could barely be called food, he relieved a still-fuming Charles in post-op and spent most of the time taking detailed medical histories from each patient. Only when Kellye pulled the clipboard from his hand did he take the hint and sit at the desk.

When he made it back to the Swamp, Charles was nowhere in sight. He asked BJ and received a shrug in response.

"I went to dinner with Margaret and Colonel Potter, and when I got back he was gone." BJ watched his friend fold, unfold, and refold his towels. "How goes the prohibition?"

"I tell you, I have this bundle of energy inside that I guess I always used to power through drinks. But now, my body has no idea what to do with it." Hawkeye began pacing back and forth, his arms flailing about as he spoke.

"Well, I'm gonna turn in. Why don't you go for a jog?"

"I'm not sure my legs will agree with that. They're on the verge of filing for divorce as it is with the two hour basketball session I put them through." BJ hummed a response and laid down. Hawkeye sat on his bed for all of three seconds before he was off again and pacing around. Finally, he decided that total exhaustion was better than this nervous energy, so he dropped to the floor and began doing push-ups. When he got to fifty and realized he still had way too much energy, he began propelling himself up off the floor between each one in an attempt to tire his muscles out.

"Hawkeye," BJ warned from his bunk.

"What's the matter, you can't sleep?" Hawkeye said between exercises. BJ cracked a joke about health clubs as he pushed himself off the floor and darted over to his bed. He grabbed some rolled up socks and began juggling. Charles' debauched entrance halted Hawkeye's energetic interlude, and only when BJ stormed out in a huff did Hawkeye finally settle down for the night.

Four days into his self-imposed dry spell, Hawkeye was beginning to wear on everyone's nerves. He knew he was being a pain, but even aware of it he couldn't help it. He kept forgetting to thank Colonel Potter, who continued to supply him with water and aspirin every morning, but he was grateful nonetheless. The headaches were getting worse, and so too was his mood.

By the time evening rolled around, Hawkeye was sulking in his tent. Margaret had blown up at him over breakfast, and Nurse Mendenhall wasn't speaking to him after his little soapbox session in the stock room. Deciding he didn't want to go back to the Swamp and listen to Charles' rant against Italians or BJ criticizing every move he made, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked out to the edge of camp.

"It's just me," he told the tree he'd raved at all those months ago. "Ever feel like the whole world is against you? Yeah, I know, I'm overreacting. But I can't help it." He leaned against the trunk and looked up at the night sky. He tried to keep up appearances at camp; be the light-hearted, carefree draftee doctor they loved. But out here on his own, his shoulders sagged and his face was weary.

"Almost a week ago, I joked about setting up a still in my living room when the war is over. But the thing is…I wasn't joking. I'm scared that this place – this _hellhole_ – has changed me."

"It has," a voice cut through his monologue, and he whirled around. Margaret was standing behind him with her hands clasped in front of her nervously. Instantly, his demeanor changed, and he grinned at her as he drew himself up.

"Why Margaret, to what do I owe the honor? Here to scream at me some more for being unreasonable and grouchy?"

She felt a little twinge of pain as his jovial defense came up, but she dismissed it almost instantly. She had been the one to push him away, and he was protecting himself the only way he knew how. Now, however, was no time for Hawkeye Pierce to make jokes.

"You know, that attitude might work on anyone else but me. Come on, we know each other too well for this." She waved her hand at him to indicate his false demeanor. She stepped closer as he fell back against the tree. "And to answer you again, this place has changed you; it's changed us all. But it's not necessarily a bad thing."

"So you don't think I'm an alcoholic?" he asked her, only half-joking.

"I think you're trying to cope with a situation that's over your head. Ben, you pull young men from the brink of death, sew them back together again, and some of them go right back out to get torn apart. Everyone copes somehow. If you don't cope, you don't survive." She joined him against the trunk, her head falling back to look up at the sky with him. She felt as well as heard him sigh next to her.

"Would you do me a favor?" he asked softly.

"Sure," she answered immediately.

"When this week is over, and I go back to drinking again…will you watch out for me? Make sure I don't start down that road? I've seen what it does to people – to families – and I don't want that for me."

She didn't know what he was talking about, but she nodded all the same. "Of course I will. Now will you come back to the camp? It's getting cold out here."

Despite the distance that was currently between them, he felt grateful that she had come after him. He pushed himself away from the tree and slung an arm around her shoulders as they walked back to camp together.

Despite one brief, terrifying moment, OR the next day went pretty smoothly. But after the North Korean soldier had tried to blow them all back home, the senior staff of the 4077th made a beeline for the O Club as soon as the last patient was wheeled out. As Potter extolled the Father's sharp eyes and nimble fingers, Hawkeye slumped down in the seat at the end of the bar.

"Well, I'm buying a round of drinks, and they're all for you," Potter told Mulcahy. As everyone picked their poison, Hawkeye willed his heart to stop thrumming in his chest. Margaret ordered a neat scotch next to him, and he steeled his nerves.

"Same here," he said somberly, not at all surprised when five sets of eyes turned to him in amazement.

"Hawk, did I hear you right?" BJ's voice was laced with shock, and Potter's face held a trace of surprise as well.

"Pierce, you hopping off the wagon?"

Hawkeye took a deep breath and creased his brow. "I just spent five minutes serenading a guy who was holding our lives in the palm of his hand."

"Oh Hawkeye, don't give up now." Father Mulcahy's tone was the worst, not quite condescending but disappointed all the same.

"You've only got two more days to go," Margaret's voice was the most sympathetic, but there was something else underneath. He knew she was remembering her promise to him, but he still couldn't get his nerves to stop doing the Jitterbug.

"Let the boy make up his own mind, folks," Potter intervened with his fatherly wisdom. "If Carrie Nation had been in that OR with us, she'd be getting a little juiced herself about now." Igor deposited their drinks in front of them as BJ offered one last condolence, and Hawkeye grabbed his quickly.

"Look, I'll admit it. I _need_ this drink, alright?" He put some bite into his tone to get them to back off, but as he lifted the glass he caught Margaret's eye. The look she gave him was full of understanding and compassion, but there was a concern beneath them that made him hesitate for a second. After only a moment more, he set the glass back down.

"I'll be back when I want it, not when I need it." He stood up and walked out, completely missing the proud looks that followed him. He went back to the scrub room and changed back into his greens, taking some time to clean up a little. It was his turn in post op tomorrow, and the later he could sleep off their latest adventure the better.

Charles was on duty in post op that night, but he stopped by anyway to check on a few of his cases. While he was there, they waxed poetic on the state of the enemy lying peacefully in one of the furthest beds while ignoring BJ's protests for silence.

On his way back to the Swamp, Hawkeye glanced at Margaret's tent. The lights were out, which meant she was probably up for the early shift the next morning. Deciding to thank her tomorrow, he continued on into the empty Swamp.

He didn't notice it until he was changed and climbing into his bunk, but a bottle of aspirin, as well as a note, had been left on his pillow. His name – his given name – was scrawled neatly on the front. Since there was only one person in his camp – probably this country – who called him by his first name, he was smiling as he opened the letter.

_I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. I know this past week hasn't been easy, but you did it. I hope we can all be as strong as you when this mess is over. Your friend always, Margaret Houlihan_

He couldn't contain the grin that split his face, and he felt his heartbeat quicken with hope for just a moment. Maybe things between him and Margaret weren't irreparable after all. Before he laid down to sleep, he folded the note back up and tucked it safely in his copy of The Last of the Mohicans, right next to a picture of his mother.

* * *

Next up: "Old Soldiers"


	12. Old Soldiers

Not sure if I said it before, but I don't own 'em. Anything you recognize isn't mine, and I make no profit from this other than the smiles I get from reading your wonderful reviews!

* * *

"I can't believe Potter snuck off in the middle of the night and left you in charge…again!" Charles raved over breakfast the morning after the Colonel's departure. Hawkeye just grinned smugly and shrugged as he sipped the last remnants of his coffee.

"Hey, if you'll recall my previous command was marred by extenuating circumstances. This time, I've got everything under control." He polished off his breakfast as Klinger strolled through the door with a clipboard in hand.

"There you are, oh illustrious Chief-For-Now."

Hawkeye grinned at the clerk as he approached the table. "Ah, here's a loyal subject now. Tell me, peasant, what do you think of my reign so far?" He raised an eyebrow in question, to which Klinger just grinned.

"I have to say, esteemed temporary commander, that you haven't really done anything yet except eat breakfast."

Snorts from the table drew Pierce's attention. He scoffed at them and signed the morning reports.

"There, my first _official_ official act."

"Now, sir, your reign has been short but efficient." Hawkeye bowed in his seat as Klinger left the mess tent, and he turned back to the table with a grin. BJ shook his head and Margaret just stood with a firm glare.

"Just don't screw things up, Pierce," she warned, brandishing her spoon at him. He held his hands up in mock-surrender, but she just rolled her eyes and strode out the door. He played it off, but he knew exactly what she was talking about; the last time he'd been in charge he'd made a royal mess of just about every relationship he had in camp. He'd made amends afterwards, but his friendship with her had been on the brink of dissolving. Now, however, Hawkeye knew exactly what to do.

"Which is what?" BJ asked as Hawkeye voiced his thought.

"Nothing. I'm adopting the Henry Blake approach to command…let others do their jobs and play golf for three days." He grabbed his clubs from the Swamp while BJ gathered the balls, and they set out toward the empty fields behind the camp.

Two days later, however, Hawkeye could feel tensions beginning to rise. No one knew exactly when Colonel Potter was due back, and certain paperwork was starting to back up. Hawkeye couldn't sign it as acting commander, but ICORPS was demanding it anyway. Klinger was being yelled at by officers he hadn't even met, and Hawkeye was getting grief from him for it.

But even with the stress of command, Hawkeye was careful not to take it out on his friends; he didn't need the backlash of his last attempt at command. Thankfully, their routine was interrupted by the arrival of a traveling troupe of children, and their time was occupied with inoculations and babysitting.

"How do you do this daily?" Hawkeye asked the matron of the group as they settled everyone in for the night. She just laughed and tucked two kids in at once.

"You get used to it." Hawkeye shook his head and looked around. Most of the kids were bunked in the thankfully empty post-op, though some were being housed in the VIP tent and spare bunks where they could be found. Margaret was currently tucking in a small boy no older than three, who looked absolutely terrified. Smiling to himself, he stood to go help her but soon realized she didn't need it.

"Come on, kiddo. It's beddie-bye time." Her tone was soft and comforting, and Hawkeye paused to watch her. She had such a maternal instinct about her that amazed him. He'd seen it briefly when the half-Korean baby had made a brief venture into their lives, but it was still a wonder to him when he saw it in action.

She laid a soft hand on the child's forehead, and smiled at him when he stopped fussing. "There you are," she told him. "Close your eyes, get some rest." He didn't speak her language, but her tone must have gotten across because he snuggled down into the blankets and closed his eyes with a small smile on his face. Satisfied that he wouldn't try to escape, Margaret moved to the next bed and covered the already sleeping girl.

The rest of the adults were already making their way out, so Hawkeye switched off the lights. "Goodnight kids," he called out. "Sweet dreams. God knows you deserve them." Margaret was the last one out, and Hawkeye brushed his hand against her arm softly as she passed him, but if she noticed she didn't react.

By the time Colonel Potter rolled in the next day, the doctors were becoming borderline manic trying to keep up with all the children. Betty had managed to settle most of them down into the mess tent for breakfast, but there were still kids running about camp like a playground. When Potter walked over to their table, Hawkeye felt a weight lifting off his shoulders.

"Colonel, welcome back to P.S. 4077. I'm happy to report that things are both hunky and dory." He grabbed a knife and laid it across his arm. "I return your sword of command, sir," he joked. Margaret, however, got right to the point.

"How's your friend in Tokyo, sir?"

"I'm not in a talking mood, Major." He looked weary as he sat down, and Hawkeye watched with concern as the Colonel only barely acknowledged their visitor. Usually he was the model of hospitality, especially where the Red Cross was concerned.

But his blow up over horse meat set the entire senior staff on alert, and they watched him go with apprehensive eyes. Later, after receiving mysterious letters from their beloved commander, worries were even higher. It wasn't until the next day, as the kids were getting their last inoculation, that Margaret began to get flustered.

"Didn't you find any clues?" she asked Klinger, who had been assigned to spy on their commanding officer for any hint as to their meeting later that night. But no one could come up with a reasonable explanation, and Margaret was at her wits' end.

"That does it, I'm gonna talk to him." She turned to walk out when Hawkeye called her back.

"Relax Margaret, you can't be a mother hen to a man old enough to be your father." He knew he'd struck a nerve, but with all the kids around she wasn't going to call him out. Instead, she dropped the subject for the time being. After all the kids were vaccinated, however, Margaret grabbed Pierce by the sleeve and dragged him out of the mess tent.

"What do you think's going on?" she asked. He could tell by her tone and her frantic movements that she was worried. Potter had been like a second father to them all, but Margaret held a special place in her heart for the old man.

"I'm not sure, Margaret, but it's going to do us no good fussing for no reason." He really hadn't meant that to come out as sharply as it had, but he couldn't take it back. He saw her mouth open to respond, but he beat her to it. "That came out wrong, I'm sorry. I just meant that you're going to worry yourself sick over something that might be nothing."

"But it might be something!" she countered.

"If it is, we'll find out tonight. For now, try not to -"

"What? Try not to what, Pierce?" _Uh oh,_ he thought. Her voice was rising and her face was flushing, two sure signs that she was about to explode on him. He steered her behind the mess tent, hoping to contain the blast with minimal casualties. As she raised an accusing finger at him, he briefly wondered if BJ would say something nice at his funeral.

"How can you just stand there and not care about that sweet man? He's hurting, he very well may be dying, and you're not concerned!"

He looked around sharply, hoping no one had overheard, before running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Okay, that's unfair," he bit back. "Of course I care about Colonel Potter. I just don't want you to make yourself sick with worry until we know there's something to worry about." He tried to convey through his tone that he was concerned about her, but she seemed oblivious.

"Why don't you worry about yourself, Pierce. It seems to be the only thing you're good at!" And she stormed away. He had half a mind to race after her and tell her off, but he knew she probably already regretted her words; her pride was the only thing keeping her from apologizing now. Deciding that living to fight another day was better than a shallow grave beside the latrines, he stalked off in search of something to occupy his time until seven.

Children were always a welcome blessing and distraction for the camp, but everyone knew that the farther way they were, the safer they were going to be. So everyone plastered a smile on their faces as the kids were piled into the bus to be transported to a refugee camp farther south. The only noticeable absence was the Colonel, who had holed himself up in his office listening to old French records. As the bus drove away Hawkeye tried to catch Margaret's eye, but it seemed she was still a little steamed at him and ignored him completely.

"Trouble Hawk?" BJ had noticed Margaret's cold shoulder and clapped his friend on the back.

"Nah, she's just worried about the Colonel." He knew BJ wasn't fooled, but thankfully he played along anyway.

"I know the feeling. What do you say I treat you to a cup of coffee in the mess tent?"

Hawkeye gave him a wry look. "I'd say yes if you could call what they serve here coffee." He followed BJ anyway, thankful for the distraction.

A few hours later, a knock on his tent door pulled him away from his father's latest letter. He looked up, expecting to see Klinger standing there with something for him to sign before he remembered he wasn't in charge anymore. Instead, Margaret was waiting impatiently outside his tent, wringing her hands together with worry.

"Margaret, come inside," he called out, almost laughing at the comical speed with which she opened the door and flew in. "To what do I owe this honor, milady?" She sat down heavily on the bed next to him, her hands still worrying each other frantically. BJ and Charles were out for the evening, so he stowed the letter away for another time and gave his attention to the woman before him. He laid his hand over hers, stilling their movement. "Margaret, what's wrong?" He noted that dusk was falling, and realized that seven o'clock must be approaching quickly.

"What if…" her throat closed over her words. "I just don't think I could take it if…" He knew exactly what she was thinking – the morbid thought had been racing through his mind since Charles mentioned it yesterday. But right now he just shook his head and concentrated on comforting his friend.

"Hey, you can't think like that," he told her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. He was only mildly surprised when she leaned into him.

"Yes, I can. My grandfather did this same thing when he told the family he was…dying. Everyone gathered at his house for a dinner, and he announced it over the salad." Hawkeye would have laughed at the image her words invoked if it weren't so serious. Taking a chance, he dropped a kiss to the side of her head and hugged her closer to him. She didn't react one way or the other, and he tightened his hold on her slightly.

"And then," she continued, "the kids were shuffled off upstairs while the adults talked. My cousin and my sister locked themselves in the bathroom and cried for two hours. I sat in the guest room alone." He knew that was a big fear for her – being alone – but that was a fear he could deal with.

"Look, I can't promise you that what we're gonna hear is good news, or even not bad news. But you're not alone, alright? Me, BJ, Charles, hell most of your nursing staff…we're all here for you. It's okay to lean on us once in a while."

She wiped her eyes and sniffed, her eyes darting around the tent for the first time. "Where are BJ and Charles?"

"BJ's in post op and Charles is in the Officer's Club. You alright?" He knew she was trying to direct attention away from herself, but he also knew her too well to buy it.

"I'll be fine. It's almost six-thirty. We should go round everyone up." She stood up and stepped away from him, and he knew she was closing herself off again.

"Hey," he put as much emotion into his voice as he could muster as he stood and grabbed her shoulders, turning her to face him. "This is me, Margaret. No fronts, remember?" She wiped the last of her tears away and raised her chin, trying to prove to herself more than him that she was strong.

"I'm scared," she admitted, "but you were right earlier. There's no use getting worked up about something I don't even know for certain yet. Whatever it is, we'll deal with it."

"Together?"

She reached up and grabbed his hands, dropping them to rest between their bodies. She looked him in the eyes so he could see the truth of her words.

"Together," she agreed.

* * *

Next up: "April Fools"


	13. April Fools

Margaret sauntered into Colonel Potter's office, resisting the urge to burst into laughter at the look on Pierce's face. He'd perched himself up against the wall in the path of the only open chair, so she just smirked proudly at him as she walked past and sat down.

As their commander lectured about a visiting Colonel and halting the prank epidemic, she stared back at Hawkeye, glancing occasionally at the foot that dangled in front of her – the one most likely covered in oatmeal at this moment. He was smiling at her, but it wasn't his usual leer or joking smirk. It wasn't even the sincere smile that she loved to see grace his features. No, this smile was sinister and full of promise. It seemed the prank war had begun in honor of the upcoming holiday, and now that she'd thrown in her lot, as it were, she mentally prepared herself to stay alert. Pierce would mostly certainly try to retaliate, but it was Hunnicutt she was worried about; that man was as cunning as a fox and as sly as a snake.

"Pierce?" Potter's voice pulled her from her thoughts, and Pierce's sadistic smile softened as he ignored the man next to him.

"Thanks for the room service, Margaret. I always did like breakfast in boot."

Plastering an innocent expression on her face, she glanced from Potter to Hawkeye.

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about." Then, to the Colonel," Don't worry about me, sir."

"I owe you one," Pierce replied, earning him a quick reprimand from Potter. As they were dismissed, however, Margaret couldn't resist rubbing it in a little.

"She who laughs last!" and she danced out the door. No doubt Hawkeye would be planning an extra-rotten prank to pull on her once Tucker was gone, but for now Margaret would revel in her victory.

Her reveling stopped, however, as she gaped at her naked tent. Despite promising the Colonel he wouldn't, Pierce had to go and pull an idiot prank that would probably get them all in trouble. Now in a froth, she stormed into the tent yelling at the sleeping form on the cot nearest her.

"Pierce! Get up you tent-napper!" She pulled the covers off his bunk and screamed. Instead of the slumbering surgeon she'd expected, they'd commandeered one of the skeletons from the lab. Laughing from outside drew her attention, and she was surprised to find all three Swamp rats giggling uncontrollably. Fuming, she grabbed the nearest weapon and charged out into the compound after them.

One pillow fight and two dressing downs later, the four of them stood outside the Swamp feeling both ashamed and frightened. Colonel Tucker was everything Potter had said he was, and now Potter himself was beyond angry. As their irate commander stormed back to his tent, Margaret turned to the men next to her.

"Well?"

"Look Margaret, we'll put it back tomorrow, first thing."

"And just where am I supposed to sleep tonight?" she asked, and soon regretted it at the look on Pierce's face. "Never mind."

"Seriously, Margaret, we have a spare bunk," BJ offered.

"_That_ would be improper," she protested, but Hawkeye just stared her down.

"This whole damn mess is improper. We folded your tent up and stowed it in the motor pool. It would take us at least an hour to pitch it up again, and since it's dark out it'll be near impossible. Just grab what you need, change in the showers, and crash here." She hesitated for a moment longer. "Look, the least we can do is offer you a place to sleep since we turned your tent into a 3D X-ray."

"I have to admit, BJ, it was a pretty good prank," she relented.

"Hey, how did you know it was his idea?" Hawkeye demanded as BJ smiled smugly.

"Because it was an intelligent one," she shot back, stepping into her open tent to grab her things. "Oh, and since I'm bunking with you three, you should know I adhere to a strict bedtime. Lights out in ten minutes." The boys groaned in unison but didn't protest further as Margaret dashed to the showers to change.

When she arrived back at the Swamp, she was surprised to see they had stripped the sheets from their beds and hung them to create a sort of barrier in the middle of the room. Winchester was already lying in bed with his eye cover on, and BJ was reading a book by lamp light. Only Hawkeye was up and about, sliding the makeshift walls along the rope enough to allow her the most privacy.

"Thank you," she told him sincerely, and he just smiled at her.

"Well, you know how BJ is," was his only response as he stepped around her and collapsed into his own bunk. She stared at her three friends a moment longer before settling into her temporary home.

"Goodnight Margaret," Hawkeye's voice floated across the tent and she rolled her eyes.

"Goodnight Pierce," she replied.

"What about me?" BJ said.

"Goodnight BJ," they said in unison.

"Will you all shut up!" Winchester shouted, causing all three to shush him.

"People are trying to sleep, Charles," Hawkeye scolded. Margaret briefly wondered if this was how they were every night, and smiled at the thought before dismissing it from her mind. They had a long few days ahead of them and they needed all the rest they could get.

Almost twenty-four hours later, Margaret wished she'd stayed in bed. Not only did they have a long OR session which interrupted their morning, Colonel Tucker seemed to be in fine form from the operating room to post-op. Reasoning with the man seemed to have no effect, and Margaret's heart very nearly stopped as he uttered the two words she dreaded hearing, court martial. As Tucker walked away, Margaret caught Pierce's eye. He looked worried, but when he saw her gaze he schooled his features quickly.

"It'll be okay," he whispered to her as the four of them slunk away. She stopped and stared at him incredulously, completely ignoring BJ and Charles as they continued back to the Swamp.

"Didn't you hear what he said? Court martial, Pierce! My father will disown me!" She felt her face flushing as she fought back emotion. He stepped in closer, and she recognized it as an attempt to hide her from prying eyes. He didn't touch her, not out in public, but she felt the compassion rolling off him in waves.

"Do you remember how many times Frank tried to court martial me?"

She snorted in contempt. "You forget, I was one of the charging officers on most of your reports," she retorted.

"And I'm still here," he pressed on. "Look, you're too good at your job – hell, you're the best nurse in Korea. Not only that, but your nursing staff is one of the sharpest around. Besides," he smiled at her, "there has to be a trial, right? How do you think the brass will react when they learn that it all started with a pillow fight?" That got a chuckle out of her, and he draped an arm loosely over her shoulders as he steered her back to the Swamp. The deluge of wounded earlier this morning had prevented the doctors from putting her tent back together, so the four of them congregated in the doctors' tent.

BJ tossed Hawkeye a wad of yarn to unravel while Margaret perched on the only chair not covered in clothes or occupied by Charles. As her mind wandered to her father and how disappointed he would be in her, Hawkeye was working on a brilliant plan.

"I just thought of something," he said suddenly. "There is not one more free than someone with nothing to lose."

"Catchy," BJ replied, "but irrelevant."

Charles nodded in agreement. "Pierce, a truly rational man does not wax philosophic when his address is about to be changed to Leavenworth." He paused for a moment before it dawned on him. "Oh my God, that's in _Kansas._"

"Look," Pierce was working up to a rant, and Margaret's attention was pulled from her thoughts. "We're already getting busted for insubordination, so why don't we go out in a blaze of glory? Let the crime fit the punishment."

A small smile crept over her face, and she briefly marveled at the change she'd undergone. Just over a year ago, she would have refused to go along with any plan of Pierce's, not to mention one designed to humiliate a higher ranking officer. But now, facing the prospect of a dishonorable discharge and disownment by her father, she had no trouble letting the three doctors lead the way.

"I love it," BJ, it seemed, agreed.

"Let's get that twerp," she added.

"Charles?" It wasn't going to work unless they were all onboard.

"Pierce, that is a childish, totally immature, and petulant suggestion. When do we nail the swine?" Pierce clapped his hands together and ushered them closer as he unveiled his masterful plan.

By the time the night was over, Margaret swore she'd never laughed as hard in her entire life as she had in the Officer's club. Pierce's plan went off without a hitch, unless one counted the fact that they'd all been outfoxed by two old Army colonels with more years of experience than the four of them combined. Even Klinger had been had, although when he waltzed into the O Club wearing that ridiculous Egyptian getup, none of them could stop laughing for over five minutes.

They all said their farewells to the Colonels, who had decided to keep the club open in celebration of their victory. As they walked back toward the compound proper, a thought dawned on Margaret.

"You creeps never did put my tent back," she scolded. But watching the way BJ wobbled and Charles shuffled, it was clear they weren't in any condition to do it now. Sighing, she resigned herself to sleeping another night in the Swamp listening to Charles snore and Pierce toss about.

But as they rounded the last corner to home, she was surprised to find her tent in one whole piece. Charles and BJ didn't even seem to notice, but Hawkeye stopped just behind her and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"I paid a few of the enlisted to do it earlier," he told her. "Figured you wouldn't want to spend any more time in our company than you had to." She shot him a look he couldn't decipher right away, but before he time to think about it she was moving toward her tent. She held the door open behind her, a sure invitation to him, and he stepped in as she walked to her bed and sat down.

"This has been a hell of a day," she stated, heaving a sigh. He canted his head at her, a question in his eyes, and she finally gave in to her curiosity. "What?"

"Would your father really have disowned you?" His tone wasn't mocking, and she found herself wondering what his father was like. Probably not the strict disciplinarian her father was, but judging from Hawkeye's moral code and strong work ethic, she guessed the elder Dr. Pierce wasn't a pushover. She'd only ever heard stories of the man, and her mental picture had been one of a simple, small-town doctor with a friendly smile and a firm hand (a necessary tool when dealing with Hawkeye Pierce).

"I don't know," she answered his question honestly. "He's a strict Army man who demands nothing but absolute perfection. My entire career has all been because of him. If I was court-martialed and thrown in Leavenworth…there's a chance, yes."

He shook his head and sat next to her. "Well, at least you would have had interesting cell mates," he joked. She shot him a warning look, but he just nudged her shoulder with his. "Come on, we've got first shift in post op tomorrow thanks to our benevolent, beguiling commander."

He stood up and showed himself to the door as she started to take off her boots. "And if you ever want to bunk with us again, give me notice so I can toss that extra cot out into the garbage pile. No use in wasting body heat with the winter months upon us." He grinned lecherously at her, but she saw the mirth in his eyes. She tossed a shoe after him as he skipped out the door, and only when he was gone did she allow herself to smile.

* * *

Next up: "Best of Enemies"


	14. Best of Enemies

I went back and forth on this one, then finally decided just to upload it as is. Let me know if there are any mistakes...

* * *

"How about I buy a round of drinks for the winning team?" Mulcahy held his winnings aloft. Margaret and BJ grinned and saluted him with their current drinks.

"I still can't believe you bet on us, Father," Margaret said. "We didn't even know we were going to be a team until those two pig-headed buffoons messed up."

"And I still get breakfast in bed," BJ smirked. "Hawk's gonna be sorry he missed this." They all laughed and talked through another round of drinks before calling it a day. It was only mid-afternoon, but BJ wanted to laze the day away in his bunk. He waved goodbye to Margaret and the Father while he sauntered back to his tent for a good sleep.

"If you'll excuse me, Major, I have to write a letter to my sister," Father tipped his hat to her and scampered away, leaving Margaret alone in the compound. As she made her way back to her tent, she saw Klinger bust out of the office and make a beeline for the Colonel's tent.

"Colonel Potter!" he yelled, almost bowling her over. "Excuse me, Major. Colonel Potter!" Margaret stopped in her tracks and shook her head as the clerk's antics succeeded in riling up their commander. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she slowed her pace to hear whatever had made the clerk so frantic. Potter opened his door and poked his head out.

"Klinger, what in the name of Harry Carry are you hollering about?" He was already miffed about losing the bridge tournament, so Klinger's shouting couldn't be improving his mood any.

"Sorry to bellow so unprofessionally, sir, but there's an important call from Seoul regarding Captain Pierce."

"Did he strip to his skivvies and dance around a bar again?" Potter was already rolling his eyes.

"No sir, he never made it there." Margaret felt her heart plummet at his words, and she saw her emotions mirrored in the older man's face.

"Damn. Alright, let's get him found, pronto!" They ran to the office to start the search for their missing surgeon, but Margaret was still frozen to the spot. The trip to Seoul was less than two hours by jeep, and Hawkeye had left well over five hours ago. If he were injured and unable to get aid, there was little chance for him now. He could have been captured as well, she thought, but that didn't settle her nerves any. She made the quick decision not to tell BJ until the Colonel said so, but she wasn't going to just sit around waiting. Making up her mind, she marched into Klinger's office and listened as the Colonel called ICORPS and ordered for a search party.

"I don't give a damn who you get to do it, just get some eyes out there and look for him!" It seemed his attempts weren't getting anywhere, and she stuffed her hands into her pockets to keep from fidgeting.

"Well that's just peachy!" He slammed the receiver down and cursed. "Oh," he jumped at the sight of Margaret so close to him. "Sorry, Major," he shook his head.

"I overheard Klinger in the compound, sir," she explained. "Is he really missing?"

"He missed his appointment with the masseuse, then he didn't show for his lunch reservations. It's been over five hours...but ICORPS won't do anything unless he's officially listed MIA, and we can't do that until _after_ his 24 hour pass expires."

"But sir!" she protested, "It could be too late by then!"

"I know that, Major," he clenched his teeth to keep from snapping at her; he'd seen how close she and Pierce had gotten, and knew she was probably worried.

"Then we'll go look for him," she said. "Klinger, get another jeep ready."

"Ix-nay, Major," Potter shook his head. "ICORPS just released a warning about enemy patrols in the area. No unnecessary travel outside of the safety zone. I'm worried, too, but right now all we can do is wait, then list him missing. From there, the MP's will handle it." He paused, looking thoughtful for a moment, before waggle a finger. "I'll put in a few phone calls to some well-placed favors, see if I can't get the ball rolling. Until I say so, kids, this doesn't leave the office." He waited until both Margaret and Klinger confirmed his order before stepping into his office.

"Major," Klinger took a step toward her, and she could tell by his tone that this was one of those rare moments when he was being serious. "Look, if it'll help I'll put in a call to Sparky to get the word out. Maybe somebody can start an unofficial search in Seoul."

"Thank you, Klinger, I appreciate it." She left him alone in the office, walking quickly across the camp to sulk in her tent alone. Normally, when her emotions overwhelmed her like this, Pierce would bug her until she told him all about it. But now that he wasn't there, she was at a loss as to what to do.

Even though their relationship was currently between definitions, she felt heartbroken at the thought that Hawkeye Pierce might be forever out of her life, whether he was lying on the side of a road or in the hands of the enemy. She shuddered at the thought of the latter, and briefly wondered just how many enemy patrols were out there right now searching for American soldiers.

The military part of her kept reminding her of the Colonel's orders, that she was above all a soldier and had to be obedient. But there was another voice inside her, one that had been given strength the past few months, and it told her to listen to her heart and do what she thought was right despite orders. She knew what Hawkeye would do if their situations were reversed; he'd be on a jeep and out looking for her the second he left Potter's sight, no matter how many enemy patrols were out there. But her whole life had been structured, military, and she couldn't just throw that part of her away so suddenly; even if the outcome of her actions hurt her. As she entered her tent and sunk down onto her bed, she felt nothing but shame. What if he died and they discovered he could have been saved if someone had gotten to him sooner?

"No," she told herself harshly. "It'll do no good to think like that." There was a chance Hawkeye was right now living it up in Seoul and just didn't make his first few appointments. The odds of Hawkeye Pierce missing a massage, however, were only slightly better than her making it to the moon on a bicycle.

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Hawkeye cursed to himself for the hundredth time that day. This was not at all how he'd pictured his 24 hours of R&R to go. He'd been shot at, captured for a brief time, and his life threatened several times at gun point. He'd performed an emergency tracheotomy on a boy who had worse problems, and he'd buried that boy just minutes later. His arms ached from shoveling dirt with his helmet, and it had taken even the two of them a few hours to dig deep enough for the boy to lie completely underneath the topsoil. The look the soldier had given him when they were done translated better than any foreign words he'd mumbled, and Hawkeye actually laid a hand on the man's arm in comfort before shouldering his bag and setting off toward the jeep.

It still wouldn't start, no matter how many times he tried to crank the key, and he slammed his hand down on the steering wheel in frustration. He could go forward and look for help, leaving his suitcase here in the meantime, or he could try to go back to camp. Deciding that knowing where he'd been was better than not knowing where he was going, he hid his suitcase in the brush nearby and slung the medical bag over his back. Taking a deep breath, he began the long trek back to camp.

A few hours later, he collapsed on a boulder off the side of the road. He was heading the right direction, he had paid attention in scouts, and he was careful to stay off the main road. By a stroke of luck, he managed to dodge an enemy squad patrolling the area, and he felt his heart thundering in his chest as he kept a careful eye out for more North Korean troops.

The sun was beginning to set behind the mountains, and Hawkeye cursed to himself. He'd only driven about twenty or so miles before everything went to hell, and he'd probably traversed about half that distance in the few hours he'd walked. Deciding that finding shelter was probably better than wandering around in the dark, he stood up and brushed himself off.

The sound of a motor had him diving into the nearest bush, and he adjusted his helmet nervously as he watched the bend in the road with fearful eyes. But as the vehicle rounded the corner his face split in a joyful grin. He jumped out in front of the Army jeep with a gleeful shout, not at all discouraged when the two MP's in the back brandished their rifles at him. He held his hands up still grinning as the driver slowed to a stop.

"Halt!" the older one commanded.

"I'm Captain Benjamin Pierce, Chief Surgeon over at MASH 4077th. My jeep stalled out about ten miles that-a-way. You boys wouldn't be able to get me back home would you?" The younger of the two lowered his weapon and jumped down from the vehicle, checking Hawkeye's dog tags and ID.

"We saw your jeep," the driver said. "We thought the North Korean patrols had gotten whoever was driving. You're one lucky duck, Captain."

"Don't I know it," Hawkeye sighed. "So, do I pass muster?" he joked with the young man in front of him, but the MP just stepped back and shouldered his weapon.

"Hop in," he thumbed toward the empty passenger seat, and Hawkeye sent up a prayer of thanks as he scrambled around the jeep and climbed in.

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A knock on her door woke Margaret from her nap. She straightened up and called for whoever it was to enter. Colonel Potter stepped into her tent looking disheartened, and Margaret felt her blood run cold.

"No news yet, Major," he said quietly. "I still haven't told BJ. I don't have the heart to wake him up and give him bad news." The old man chuckled, "Well, that and I don't want him going off half-cocked again on a foolhardy search mission."

"Sir, may I speak freely?" she requested, and he nodded. "Sir, you and I both know Pierce wouldn't have missed his appointment at the masseuse if Korea were falling down around us. He didn't make it to Seoul, and if we wait until tomorrow our chances of finding him are slimmer than they are now." She stood up as she spoke, and her hands twitched nervously as she paced around a small area. Her face was flushed, and the colonel knew that once he left she would most likely cry her eyes out.

"Margaret, I understand your concern. You and BJ are closer to Hawkeye than anyone in this camp. But being in the Army means sometimes we have to do things we disagree with. It's part of wearing the uniform." He sighed heavily, his years evident on his weary face. "Now, I've pulled so many strings you'd think I was opening up a marionette show, but no one has seen or heard from Pierce since he left here this morning. There's nothing else we can do tonight. My best advice to you is to get some rest and we'll hit this thing hard and fresh tomorrow morning." He patted her face lovingly and exited, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

It was well past midnight when the sound of an engine penetrated her dreamless sleep. She jumped out of bed before she realized it was just one jeep, and there had been no announcement of wounded over the PA system. Still, she poked her head out and watched the Army vehicle pull up to the office. She was about to duck back inside and let Klinger deal with whoever it was when the passenger stepped out of his seat. Even silhouetted against the single light over post op, she recognized him immediately.

"Hawkeye," she whispered, running toward him from her doorway. "Hawkeye!" she cried louder, not caring that tears were streaming down her face as she raced across the compound. He turned with a questioning look on his face and had about three seconds before she barreled into him. He took a bracing step back and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Margaret?" he whispered into her hair. He felt her tears soaking his collar, so he turned her back to the jeep and looked over her shoulder at the three MP's. "Thanks for the lift boys. I'd offer you a bite to eat at the mess tent but that would just be cruel, especially after you saved my neck. I owe you one."

"Don't mention it, Captain," the driver offered a quick salute. "With a reception like that, it's a wonder you don't get lost more often." Hawkeye smirked at the young man and waved with one hand as the jeep drove off into the darkness. Now alone, he turned his attention to Margaret.

"We thought you'd been killed or captured," she offered by way of explanation. She'd managed to compose herself in the short time Hawkeye had thanked his rescuers, so she took a step back from him and wiped her eyes.

"Well, you were right on one count," he told her. Her eyes filled with concern, but he just shook his head as if to say he would tell her later. "Where's Colonel Potter? I guess I should get switched from lost to found."

After another joyful welcome from their commanding officer, Pierce ran through a quick briefing of what had happened since he'd left that morning. He barely mentioned the part about the boy, glossing over it unimportantly, but neither of them missed the haunted look in his eyes as he finished his tale.

"Well son, it sounds like you've been through quite an ordeal. Hopefully we can retrieve your luggage later, but for now I'm just sure glad you're home. I'll phone command and tell them you're back. I'll need you to fill out a report, but that can wait till tomorrow. Get some rest, Pierce." Potter clapped the younger man on the back as Margaret and Hawkeye left his tent.

"We didn't tell anyone," Margaret explained as they walked back toward their tents. "ICORPS wouldn't officially list you missing until tomorrow, and BJ was asleep when Seoul called us and told us you hadn't made it."

"I'm sorry I worried you," he replied as they stopped in front of her tent. He ran a hand down his face tiredly. "God, I'm beat. I'm gonna hit the sack. See you tomorrow, Margaret."

"Ben?" He halted his retreat and turned his head toward her. "Tomorrow…we'll talk, right?" He looked at her for a moment before his shoulders slumped in defeat. She hadn't been fooled by his standoffish attitude; she'd seen how affected he was by his experience. He nodded to her and waved over his shoulder as he crept into the darkened Swamp and collapsed into bed.

Hawkeye slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning as images from the day assaulted his subconscious. He didn't wake up until noon the next morning, and he showered and dressed in a sleepy haze. As he slumped into the mess tent for lunch, BJ and Charles waved him over.

"Well, well, if it isn't the Party Animal of Pusan," Charles gibed. "You rolled in awfully late last night, Pierce. Wild night?" Hawkeye just grunted a response and sat down next to BJ. He sipped his coffee absently as he stabbed at his breakfast.

"Hawk, everything okay? Or did you just have a little too much fun yesterday?" BJ had a sly grin on his face, his mind already filled with thoughts about all the trouble Hawkeye could get into while on R&R.

Margaret sat down on Hawkeye's other side and slipped her hand under the table to squeeze his knee in support. He'd been ready to lash out at BJ and Charles, to tell them exactly how much "fun" he'd had the day before, when he felt her hand on his leg. He relaxed and began to eat in silence, ignoring the strange looks he was getting from his tent mates. Still, they took the hint and dropped the subject, turning instead to comment on the lull they seemed to be having.

When they were all done, BJ tried one more time to get Hawkeye to talk to him. It wasn't like the outgoing doctor to be so quiet, especially after a day off in Seoul. He guessed something had happened the day before that nobody was telling him about, but by the confused looks Charles was sporting, BJ guessed he hadn't been let in on it either. After watching Margaret all but pull Hawkeye into her tent, BJ shook his head and sought out the one man who always knew what was going on: Klinger.

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Margaret and Hawkeye sat shoulder to shoulder on her bed, their backs up against the tent wall. It was a similar position to the night he'd told her about his fear of enclosed spaces, and it seemed as though he was once again drawing strength from her presence. Nothing was said for a while; Hawkeye just leaned his head back and closed his eyes. She took the time to study his features, noting how tight the muscles in his neck were and how creased his brow was. This war was taking its toll on everyone, but the man next to her never seemed to be fazed by anything. Now she realized how wrong she was, and just how strong Hawkeye had been for almost two years.

"Margaret, how much Korean do you know?" His voice pierced the silence, and she actually jumped a little at the sound.

"A little bit. Why?"

His blue eyes were clear as he opened them to look at her. "Because maybe if I knew a little bit, I could have explained to that soldier that we needed to get his boy off the ground and to a hospital."

She turned her body to face his, bending her leg to allow her to sit as close as possible as she grabbed his hand. "No, you can't think like that. You did everything you could to save that boy's life. From the sound of it, he was too far gone by the time you got there."

He tightened the grip on her hand and laid his head back again. "I've never had to bury them before," his voice was thick with emotion. "They die and then they're gone, on to the next."

She wasn't really sure what he wanted her to say or do, so she stayed quiet. Their relationship had been so bewildering lately, mostly due to her trying to put distance between them. He'd somehow managed to breech the walls she'd built around herself after Donald. If she were being truthful – and in the silence of her own tent she allowed herself that much – he'd been inside those walls when she'd erected them. With his persistent nagging and sometimes unwanted compassion he'd shown her that he was different from those that came before, that he cared for her and wanted to be her friend.

But then he'd gone and proved to her that he was just as capable of hurting her, damaging her trust in him. He was the indelible Benjamin Franklin Pierce, a doctor who always put patients before himself. But he'd broken his oath by performing that appendectomy on Colonel Lacy. She remembered the wave of emotions that had assaulted her when she found out: shock, anger, disgust, disappointment. They were all familiar to her, but their source was not. So she dealt with that betrayal the only way she knew how – she shoved him to the outside of her fortress with everyone else.

She knew he cared, hell he probably cared more than anyone she'd ever met, but despite his attempts to get back into her good graces she'd remained resolute in her decision to keep him at arm's length.

But she knew now that was impossible; they had a bond, something indescribable that kept pulling them back together. Now that the sting of that night had died, she could interpret everything more clearly. His snappish attitude in post op, the devastated look in his eyes as he'd asked for her forgiveness, the absolute sadness when she'd refused. She'd driven her feelings for him deep down, but they were bubbling up again as she reminded herself just how heartbroken he'd looked when she ordered him out of her tent.

"Why did you become a doctor?" She asked it so suddenly, she didn't even realize she'd spoken until his head lifted again and he looked at her, probably determining the honesty of the question.

"My dad's a doctor," he said simply, but at her look he realized he wasn't going to get away with the easy answer he'd spouted off all these years. Taking a deep breath, he adjusted his position slightly and turned toward her.

"When I was ten and my mom was in the hospital in Portland, my dad took me to visit her. I knew she was sick, but Dad hadn't told me how serious it was so I just assumed she was getting better." He shook his head bitterly, and continued. "Anyway, I guess the nurses needed to talk to Dad about what was going on, so he sent me to the cafeteria with some money to get something to eat. Of course, being ten and extremely curious, I got lost in about ten seconds." She smiled and briefly wondered what a young Hawkeye Pierce had been like before focusing her attention on him again.

"I had wandered into the trauma wing, where they take the emergencies, you know? I rounded this corner and heard a commotion. I don't remember the specifics, but I knew the man on the table was dying. This doctor just wouldn't give up, though. He kept ordering adrenaline and pounding on this guy for all he was worth just to get his heart started again. He saved that guy's life right in front of me, and I realized it was the same doctor I'd seen in my mom's room. I felt so happy that this man – this _hero_ – was taking care of my mom. I was so sure he'd help her just like he'd saved that man." Margaret felt like crying at the expression on his face, but she remained still for his sake.

"After she was gone, I was so mad. I skipped school and used all my pocket change for a bus ride to Portland General. I found the doctor and just started beating on him. I mean, just yelling and screaming at him for not saving my mom. At some point I started sobbing and he just lifted me up and carried me to his office."

"Your father?"

"Was furious," he chuckled hollowly as he remembered, "but they called him and he drove out there to get me. During the wait, Dr. Hanfield sat me down and explained to me what it meant to be a doctor. He told me that, above all, a doctor's duty was to save lives. But sometimes, he said, letting them go can save them more than hanging on and trying to fix them." He paused for a moment, then took a deep breath. "'Being a doctor isn't glamorous, but it's the most fulfilling, heartbreaking, and rewarding profession in the world.'" he quoted with a smile. "When my dad picked me up I told him I wanted to be a doctor, a surgeon like Dr. Hanfield."

"Ben, you are quite possibly the most remarkable doctor I've ever known," she told him honestly. "And I know our friendship has been strained recently, and I take most of the blame for that." He opened his mouth to interrupt, but she laid a finger over his lips to silence him. "Let me finish. I understand now how hard that decision had to be for you," she didn't elaborate; the pain in his eyes let her know he understood what decision she meant. "But I also realize that I could never have been as strong as you to make that choice. And," she continued after a beat, "I'm glad you came to talk to me today."

"Well," he shrugged, "if we can't talk to each other…" he let his thought trail off. She scooted her body against his and laid her head on his shoulder, trying to offer him some of the comfort she'd denied him all those months ago. Since then, though she had kept her distance, he'd always been willing to listen, to give her advice and a shoulder when she needed it; it was time to return the favor.

Soon enough, his breathing evened out, and she wondered how much sleep he'd gotten the night before. Judging from the weariness in his step and the dark circles under his eyes she guessed not much. She carefully extracted her hand from his and stood up, hoping he wouldn't wake. When he didn't stir, she let out the breath she was holding and gently pushed him down to lie on her bed. She pulled off his boots and covered him up with her spare blanket, perching on the edge just to watch him sleep.

For the first time in her life she was uncertain when it came to a man; she'd always known what she wanted and went for it. But she also knew how to keep her distance, and if anyone got too close she'd either push them away or run. It was how she survived, but not how she wanted to live. As she ran a hand through Hawkeye's prematurely graying hair she knew she wanted to run again, but this time she was going to run toward him. She scribbled a hasty note to let him know about her shift in post op before she switched the light off and shut the door.

* * *

Next up: "Father's Day"


	15. Father's Day

This is probably the one everybody's been waiting for...

* * *

"If Margaret tells me to cut my hair one more time, I'm going to tie her down and shave her bald." Hawkeye complained to BJ after another dressing down from the head nurse. Her father was due any minute now, and she was currently rounding up her nurses into formation for inspection upon the Colonel's arrival.

"Ah, it's only for a few days, and it'll make her happy. You can part with a few strays," BJ replied as he trimmed his mustache. Hawkeye tossed a few socks into a basket and sighed.

"Fine, but if they scream in pain I'm calling the Geneva Convention." He sat on a chair as BJ turned his scissors on his friend's head. It only took about ten minutes to get their hair in order, but by the time they were done "Howitzer" Al Houlihan was already in the compound.

"Shall we?" Hawkeye stood up and gestured to the door just as Potter walked in.

"Let's go, boys, he's here." Potter took one look at Hawkeye in his bathrobe and BJ in his straw hat and sighed. Some things would never change. "Margaret's gonna have kittens when she sees you two."

"Hey, I shaved and cut my hair. She said nothing about the uniform," Pierce protested. He hated dressing up for brass, even if it was Margaret's father. He had a feeling the man wouldn't like him even if he presented himself in Class A's just because he was a draftee.

"Come on, Hawk," BJ grabbed Hawkeye's sleeve and pulled him out the door, but not before he grabbed his cowboy hat and perched it atop his neatly trimmed head.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

For the first time in her life, Margaret actually felt thankful they had wounded. She was so eager for her father to see her and her nurses in action, she just knew he would be proud of her. She watched with eagle eyes for any discrepancies in her girls, but they were all doing their work perfectly. Unfortunately for her, the doctors began their inane banter just as more wounded arrived. Quickly, she approached Pierce under the guise of tying his surgical gown, but she took the time to berate him for his behavior.

"Just this once, could you conduct yourself with the tiniest trace of professionalism?" she whispered harshly.

"Margaret, will you perch somewhere? Your shoes are beginning to smoke," he retorted. "He's your father, he's not the inspector general." He adjusted his gloves as she cinched the back of his gown closed, coughing when she tugged too hard.

"I ask you to do one _crummy_ thing for me because it really means a lot, and this is what I get." She tied his gown as she hissed in his ear, her voice full of venom. "I don't know why I expected anything from any of you!" He whirled to reply just as hotly, but as she stormed away she crashed into an instrument tray, sending its content clattering to the concrete floor.

"Margaret, take it easy will you? You're a nurse in a china shop." He saw her face beneath her mask go white, and he immediately regretted his words. One look at Al Houlihan's face said it all, and all of OR watched as he turned and strode out the door. Hawkeye heard Margaret sigh and resisted the urge to reach out to her. He knew she would just snap at him, so he bit his tongue and continued with his surgery.

When it was all over, Margaret was the first one out the door. Kellye was startled for a moment – the head nurse was usually the last to leave – but she shook it off quickly and began delegating clean up duties to the corpsman and nurses as the doctors shuffled to the scrub room.

Hawkeye changed as quickly as he could to catch up with Margaret, who had managed to change and storm out the door in record time. He ignored the look from his CO and the smile from BJ as he chased her to her tent.

"Knock knock," he said softly, not at all surprised when there was no answer. "Look, if you don't let me in, I'll stand here all night singing off pitch." The door opened instantly, and he stepped inside quickly. Somehow she had moved back to the other side of the tent and stood with her back to him. He could tell from the rigid way she held herself that she wasn't going to talk to him, so he settled for talking to her.

"Look, I'm sorry for what I said in there. I didn't think my jokes were bad enough to send people streaming to the doors."

"That's all you care about isn't it!" she whirled on him, her face red with fury. "God forbid no one laughs at your jokes. You don't care that my father can't even stand to see me make one mistake, that I embarrassed him today!" She tried to pace it out but found that, with him standing in the middle of her tent, there was no room. So she turned back around, hiding her features from him.

"Margaret, you're over-reacting," he reasoned, taking a step closer. "You don't know for sure that that's why he walked out."

"Yes I do," her voice lowered, admitting defeat. "Do you know what he said when he first got here?" Hawkeye shook his head, and even though she didn't see it she continued. "He inspected my nurses and said 'I guess there's only so much you can do under the circumstances.' I try so hard to please him, to make him proud of me. It's never enough."

"He should be proud of you," he defended adamantly. "You're a damn fine nurse, and a hell of a woman. Margaret," he reached forward and grabbed her shoulders, turning her to face him. "In my entire career as a doctor, I have never worked with a better nurse. You keep the rest of us going – sometimes against our wills – and still manage to keep yourself in absolute perfect form. And if you repeat to anyone this I'll deny it," he added, dropping his voice in mock-secrecy, "but you are my favorite officer in the whole US Army." She smiled a little at the memory his words evoked, and, just like that day long ago upon returning from a hellish stint at Battalion Aid, he leaned down and kissed her cheek.

"I think I'm going to go see my father," she said as she stepped away from him. He let her go and nodded.

"That's a good idea," he agreed, watching her pep return as her plan developed.

"Yeah, maybe I'll go get him something to eat on the way."

"Well, he'll have to settle for whatever's in the mess tent," he retorted as he left, throwing her a sly grin. She shot him a mirthful glare in return as he departed, leaving her to figure out just what she was going to say to her father.

She felt only slightly better as she left the VIP tent and returned to her own. Conversation had never been a big part of anything at the Houlihan household. Even dinner had often been a somber occasion, only livening when Margaret or her sister had something exceptional to report from school. Just as she suspected, her father had been upset with her performance in OR, and though he'd accepted her promise that it would never happen again she still felt uneasy about it. The Colonel was being unusually distant, which for him was a great feat, and Margaret was unsure on how to proceed.

She thought about seeing if Hawkeye and BJ were still up, but thought better of it. Her emotions were churning enough with her father here; there was no need to try and figure out her and Pierce on top of it. So she settled down in her bunk with a good book and let her mind wander away from thoughts on her life and into the romance novel she had purchased on her last trip to Seoul.

She drifted off some time later, and therefore missed Pierce's tirade as he and BJ trudged back to the Swamp after a rather unsuccessful attempt to make nice with Colonel Houlihan.

"Can you believe him?" he asked again, raving as his more rational friend just shrugged. "All that spew about disrespecting the uniform," he gestured to his bathrobe and cowboy hat. "What I'm wearing is more American than the green canvas he loves so much."

"Come on, you remember how Margaret and Frank were when I got here, and according to you it was worse than that when you first arrived. I don't know why it surprises you that he doesn't like us." At the mention of Margaret, Hawkeye pulled up short.

"You think we should tell her?"

"No," BJ shook his head and urged his friend into the Swamp. "Howitzer Houlihan had a few too many drinks and it loosened his tongue. Just because he didn't bother hiding his disgust for us is no reason to go running to Margaret."

"She adores him, you know. Worships him, is probably more like it. You should have seen her, Beej. When he walked out of OR, the look on her face…" he ran a hand through is hair. "Let's just say I'm not too fond of him, either."

"Look, we'll get nowhere running in circles. He despises us and we're not too fond of him. Let's just suffer through his presence for Margaret's sake and think about the delicious steak dinner we'll all be enjoying when he leaves." BJ reached up and turned off his light as he settled down on his bed.

"Right," Hawkeye fluffed a pillow and collapsed on his bunk. "Night, Beej."

"Goodnight, Hawkeye."

After being rudely awakened by Klinger – and getting a rude awakening from Margaret – Hawkeye and BJ stood in the showers trying to thaw out an entire cow. Hawkeye was still fuming over the fact that Margaret's father had lied to her, vilifying them in the process. He tried to concentrate on the fact that in a few hours they would be dining on actual steak, but even that thought couldn't distract him.

"Hey Klinger!" he yelled, and the man on sentry duty poked his head in.

"Yes, oh Bringer of Beef?"

"Take over for me, will you?" He stepped away and Klinger stepped up to help BJ hold the cow upright.

"Where are you going?" BJ asked curiously.

"I need to clear the air," he answered, darting out the door before anyone could stop him. He stormed to the VIP tent, but pulled up short when he heard Potter's raised voice floating through the thin walls.

"You mean you'd let Margaret think she's a failure rather than admit you were about to lose your lunch? You'd rather crush her feelings than let on you're human like the rest of us?" Potter's voice only held some of the anger that coursed through Hawkeye at that moment.

"Colonel," Alvin's voice cut in with a scolding tone that Hawkeye guessed worked on the man's daughter. But Colonel Potter was a formidable man himself, and he pushed on indignantly.

"You're so busy being 'Howitzer' Al Houlihan, you can't even let your own daughter know you love her?" Potter was livid now, Hawkeye could hear it in his voice, and he didn't blame him. If it was anyone other than Colonel Potter in there, Hawkeye would storm in and tell Alvin Houlihan just what he thought of him. But the Colonel had a way of getting through to stubborn people. _Lots of practice,_ Hawkeye thought with a sardonic chuckle.

"Listen Colonel," obviously the elder Houlihan realized talking down to the Colonel wasn't going to work, so he switched tack. "You raise your family, and I'll raise mine." Footsteps shuffled closer to the door, and Hawkeye took a step back.

"Look, I figure you're not the kind of man to act the way you did unless something's really eating you." Potter's voice held that sensible lilt that made anyone – even obstinate doctors – listen and take heed. "These days you've got a lot of empty spaces in your life. You don't have your men, and you don't have your woman. But you do have your daughter. I'd say, right now, you're running away from the one person you should be getting close to." With that wisdom, Potter left the tent and almost ran right into Hawkeye.

"Now don't go doing anything stupid, son," Potter warned in a quiet voice. He could tell the younger man was brimming with fury. But Hawkeye drew a deep breath and managed to force his temper back with some effort.

"I'll say my piece and bury the hatchet, for Margaret," he agreed. "But someone has to let him know what he's done to her, and I was there for the breakdown." Remembering Margaret's face as she told him how disappointed her father was with her brought his blood to a boil again.

"Just be gentle with the man, Pierce." Hawkeye shot the man an incredulous look as he walked away, leaving the doctor baffled. Taking a deep breath, he took two long strides forward and knocked on the door.

"Come in." Alvin's voice was gruff, as if he were trying to fight off emotion, and Hawkeye noted amusingly that he and Margaret shared that trait. "Oh, it's you," the contempt was back, but softened by Potter's words still rolling around in his head. Hawkeye switched strategies almost mid-stride as he remembered that the man in front of him was, in fact, a Houlihan. Yelling wasn't the best way to get through to them. Sometimes you had to sweeten the medicine a bit.

"I heard you were leaving, Colonel, and I just wanted to wish you a safe voyage." He held out his hand, waiting for the older man to take it. Finally, after a speculative moment, he did, but Hawkeye didn't let go. Instead, he used the leverage to stare directly into Alvin Houlihan's eyes.

"I understand that you may give very little credence to what I say," Hawkeye said, his voice calm and steady as he stared the older man down. "And I won't pretend to know what raising a child is like. But I care for your daughter a great deal; she's become very important to me – to a lot of people here. And I know she neither wants it nor needs it, but I will protect her from anyone causing her pain."

Al wrenched his hand away from the younger man and snarled. "How dare you accuse me of harming my daughter! I love Margaret more than anything in the world."

"You have a funny way of showing it," Hawkeye shot back, letting some of his anger seep into his words. "All she's tried to do this whole damn visit is please you. She's bent over backward making sure this place was _perfect_ for you, and the best you can muster is 'I guess you can only do so much under the circumstances.' That woman has done nothing but grovel at your feet for damn near thirty years, and you can't even tell her how proud of her you are. Did you know she was in tears after you walked out on her in OR? And for what? Because you got a little queasy!"

"So now we've stooped to eavesdropping," Alvin retorted acidly, but Hawkeye was unfazed by his attempt to change the subject. He'd been dodging Houlihan subject-changes for a while now, and had gotten pretty good at it.

"Did you see how upset she was this morning after you told her you were leaving early?"

Hawkeye was almost frothing at this point, and Al wondered briefly just how deep this young man's relationship with his daughter was. He was touched that Margaret had such ardent friends, and felt relieved to know she would be looked after in his absence. But the military man in him had to address the insubordination at hand, and he drew himself up to his full height.

"I'll remind you, _Captain_, that I could have you arrested for conduct unbecoming, insubordination, and a boatload of other charges that will have you locked up for a very long time. Doctor or no - _Chief Surgeon_ or no - I will not tolerate any disrespect in my Army." He took a breath and continued even as Hawkeye opened his mouth to protest. "However, I can see that you do care about Margaret. I won't admit to being the most affectionate father – I never had a good role model in that area. But I did my best raising my girls, and I'll be damned if anyone will tell me otherwise. I'll take your words under advisement, Captain, and I'll also ignore the manner in which they were delivered." Hawkeye couldn't be sure if the Colonel was being patronizing or not, but he didn't want to press his luck.

"Colonel, I'll never be regular Army," he replied, "and I may not respect the death and killing, but I am an American and I am proud of my country." He wasn't sure why he felt compelled to gain the Colonel's approval, but the words were out there and he couldn't take them back.

"That's all I can ask, son," Alvin actually smiled and held his hand out. Hawkeye took it in a firm grip, returning the man's half-smile. They stared at one another, each sizing up the other. They shared something in common, and as they released their grips a silent agreement was passed between the men. Whatever their differences, however conflicted their views, they both cared enough for Margaret to set aside those disparities for her sake.

"Goodbye, Colonel."

"Goodbye, Captain. You look after my little soldier, now." Hawkeye just nodded and left, glancing back at the enigmatic man he'd left behind. He shook his thoughts clear and dashed back to the showers to check on their dinner.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"That was possibly the best steak dinner I've ever had in my entire life." BJ sat back in his seat and patted his too-full stomach.

"Here, here," Potter echoed. "I'm not really sure I can stand," he joked, rising to his feet slowly. He let out an uncomfortable groan as he straightened up. "Pierce, I have to say as far as surprises go, this one is the best yet."

"Well, I couldn't have pulled it off without the aid of my friends…and Charles." There was scattered laughter as Winchester sneered good-naturedly at his bunkmate.

"Pierce, you can be sure I would respond to your barb with acerbic wit, however my mother always taught me to never bite the hand that feeds me."

"Which is probably the only reason Igor is still among the living," BJ added, earning more laughter. Gradually, the mess tent cleared out as the camp went about their daily activities. Hawkeye stood and grabbed his and Margaret's trays, depositing them in the dirty dishes bin without a second thought. She scooted up behind him and kept her voice low so the others wouldn't hear.

"Can we talk?" He shot her a strange look, as if he were deciphering the nature of her request. Finally, he shrugged and cleared his throat.

"Shall we take an evening stroll, milady?" he offered his arm gallantly, and she smiled widely as she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. They slipped off toward the back of camp, where there were small trails winding down behind Rosie's. Despite her initial request, Margaret stayed silent for a while enjoying the evening breeze and the sounds of Korean twilight drifting over the wind.

"_Komapsumnida_," she said finally. "It means 'thank you.' My father left me a note just before he left telling me that he loved me and that he was proud of me." Hawkeye grinned at that and she shook her head. "He also told me what really happened at the Officers' Club. I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions like that. I know you and BJ always come through when I need you to, I was just so frustrated with his attitude and I took it out on you. That was unfair, and I'm sorry." He laid his free hand over the one tucked into his arm and he shook his head.

"I understand, Margaret. Believe me, if my father were here I'd probably be a bit more obnoxious as well."

"_More_ obnoxious than you already are? That's hard to imagine," she gibed, earning her a poke in the ribs. She tried to twist away, but he held her hand tight in his arm and so only succeeded in pulling them both slightly to the left. After a few more moments of silence, Margaret took another deep breath.

"He also told me that you yelled at him." He couldn't tell from her expression if she was upset with him for standing up for her; she was oddly contradictory when it came to chivalry. Sometimes she demanded the gallantry that a gentleman should exhibit, and others she resented being coddled like a damsel in distress.

"I wouldn't call it yelling per se," he decided that ambivalent defense was the best course. "I just told him what I thought about how he was treating you."

"Hawkeye, both you and I know how you get when you're on a rant. No one can say you're not passionate about your beliefs." He thought he felt her squeeze his arm affectionately, but he couldn't tell for sure so he ignored it and let her sort out whatever was on her mind.

"When I was growing up, we were always moving around from place to place. Meeting new people, seeing new countries and getting to know their language and customs – I loved it. Then, as time wore on and I got a little older, I began to understand what I was missing. I would arrive on my first day of school and everyone would already know each other. I had to fight to be accepted, and after a while I stopped trying." Hawkeye listened intently as she detailed her childhood. This was more than she'd ever shared with him and he was going to soak up every word.

"When I was about thirteen, I asked my dad why we had to move around so much. He said that wearing the uniform meant that some sacrifices had to be made. I've sacrificed a lot since I joined the Army – the chance for a safe, fulfilling career in a hospital, the chance to have started a family and live in a home, not just base housing." She took a bracing breath, as if her words were causing her pain. He wanted to tell her that it was alright, that she didn't have to talk if it was this difficult for her, but his curiosity got the better of him and he kept his mouth shut.

"I'm tired of sacrificing my happiness just to please people I've never met. I love the Army, the order and discipline have always been a cornerstone in my life. But now, I think I want more." His heart skipped a couple beats as he tried to decipher her words. Finally, he just voiced his confusion.

"Margaret, I'm not really sure what you're saying here. I mean, I understand what you said, I just…I'm not getting where you're going." She slid in next to him, removing her hand from his arm to wrap it around his waist. Instinctively, his arm slipped over her shoulders, tucking her into his warmth as a chilled breeze danced over them.

"Ben, something's happened to us," she said in a serious tone. "Don't tell me you don't feel it; I've seen it in your eyes." He stopped them in the middle of a dirt trail and turned her to face him.

"I would never deny it, Margaret, if you asked. But you've always seemed to keep me at arm's length when possible, especially recently." A shiver went through her that had nothing to do with the cooling night air and she forced her gaze to meet his.

"I'm tired of running," she admitted. "No matter how fast or how far, I turn around and you're there."

"That's what friends do," he countered glibly, and she canted her head to the side slightly.

"Is that what we are? Friends?"

"At least," he told her. "Whatever else we are, Margaret, we'll always be friends." He didn't know if he was reassuring her or looking for affirmation, but when she acquiesced to his statement he relaxed.

"You know, my father was all set to hate you for being an unpatriotic, undisciplined draftee doctor." The abrupt switch of topic threw him for a moment. "But in his note to me he said he'd never met a finer man."

"Really?" The disbelief was evident in his voice; he was sure the elder Houlihan despised him not only for his flippant attitude but for the way he'd accosted him in his tent.

"You sound surprised," she raised a carefully manicured eyebrow. "He said you two had a talk just before he left." The question was in her tone, and Hawkeye realized that Alvin hadn't detailed that conversation to his daughter. It was up to Hawkeye how much he shared with her.

"He needed to know what he'd done," his tone wasn't apologetic, only informative. "Father or no, Margaret, he had no right to make you think you were a disappointment." She nodded then, telling Hawkeye without words that her father had come clean to her. "Besides," he answered, "I think he needed to know you were happy here, that you had friends who would look out for you. I'm not the only one who talked to him, you know," he said, mainly to get the heat off of him. She had odd reactions to people – especially men – sticking up for her when they were not asked. "Colonel Potter beat me to it."

"Well, he at least was probably more tactful about it," she laughed and resumed her place by his side as they began walking again.

"Where are we going?" he asked, not at all sure he was just talking about their physical destination.

"Wherever this path leads us," she gestured to the road beneath them, but – like his – her words had deeper meaning. Silence reigned then as they made their way leisurely back to camp. Night had fallen, and everyone had settled down for the night. Through the netting of the Swamp, Hawkeye could see BJ composing a letter – probably to Peg – and Charles' music was floating across the compound. As they neared, Hawkeye recognized the soft tune as a favorite of his mother, and he smiled softly as he began to hum along.

They reached Margaret's tent in no time, and she turned to face him with her back against the door. From any angle, it looked as if Hawkeye were just standing obnoxiously close as he always did, but when she raised herself up to kiss him lightly all thought left him. She pulled away before he had a chance to respond, but the look in her eyes mirrored the passion in his own. Both of them knew there was no turning back down the path they'd begun, but they also knew that now was not the time for that particular leap.

They'd come together one desperate night when death seemed so near. But now, standing in front of her tent, both of them realized they had all the time in the world. It would happen eventually, that much they were sure about, but it wouldn't happen tonight. Before he could doubt himself, he flashed her a lopsided grin and stepped away.

"Goodnight, Margaret."

"Goodnight, Ben."

* * *

Next up: "Depressing News"


	16. Depressing News

"I thought this camp was awfully quiet for a lull," Margaret quipped as she surveyed Hawkeye's tower of tongue depressors. He acknowledged her with a noncommittal grunt as he continued to glue the little sticks to the base he'd constructed.

"Have you been here all day?" she asked, trying to get some response from him.

He sighed and set his brush down before running a weary hand over his face. He sat back on his haunches and surveyed his work; the base was done, but he had no idea how he was going to turn the three inch high structure into a monument. He felt a hand on his shoulder and stood up, turning to face Margaret for the first time.

"I'm sorry, I'm just…thinking." She nodded and let her hand fall to his. He grasped it lightly and smiled tiredly.

"You missed dinner."

"What was on the menu tonight? Spam on a shingle?"

"Meatloaf," she grimaced, and he mirrored her expression.

"Then I'll consider it a blessing. What time is it?" He led her to a pile of crates and sat down, only mildly surprised when she took a seat next to him still holding his hand.

"Just after ten; you should get some rest."

He jumped up just as fast as he'd sat down, letting go of her hand. "I can't," he told her. "I just have too much energy." He paced around in a small circle before coming to rest beside her. "Besides, I have to figure out how this," he gestured at the small base, "is going to become a tower. I can't just keep gluing these things together, I'll go crazy."

"How about those old sign poles we replaced last week?" They had constructed new signs for the entrances into camp using thicker wooden posts, and the old thin rods had been pitched into the garbage pile. His face lit up as he kissed her forehead.

"You're a genius. Be right back!" He dashed off before she could stop him and came back moments later toting six seven foot poles. She watched as, using glue and rope, he constructed a seven foot three tower in mere minutes.

"You can't fix an engine but you can build a miniature monument?" she joked, earning her a withering glare. Using a saw he'd retrieved from the motor pool he cut up the remaining poles to create horizontal support beams around the tower.

"Now what?" she asked as he took a step back to survey his work.

"Now, I need a list of every wounded man that's come through here." There was a look in his eyes she was only partially familiar with – it was the same look he had whenever he had a particular grueling task in front of him and nothing short of the end of the war would stop him. She stared at him a moment and took in his sunken features and his tired eyes.

"Okay, I'll get it on one condition," she crossed her arms over her chest in what she hoped was a no-argument stance.

"What's that?" he grinned, recognizing her attempt at control.

"You'll only run yourself into the ground if you keep going tonight. You can start first thing in the morning, but I want you to go to bed." She reached forward and tugged on his hand, using the motion to direct him to his tent.

In the two weeks since her father's visit, their relationship had only been a bit more definable than before. They both knew there was more than friendship, but neither seemed in a big hurry to jump in with both feet.

He collapsed onto his cot as she shook out his blanket. He rolled over enough to pull off his boots, jacket and pants, leaving him in boxers and the thin Army undershirt. BJ was in post-op and Charles was already snoring, so no one witnessed Margaret tucking him in to bed.

"Goodnight Margaret," he murmured.

"Goodnight Ben." She waited until she heard his breathing even out before she retreated back to her own tent.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next morning found Hawkeye hard at work securing his tower and gluing more depressors to the frame. She couldn't catch his eye as she exited her tent, so she detoured quickly to Klinger's office to get the list he wanted. It took almost half an hour to gather all the reports and, after promising Klinger they were returned as soon as possible, she dashed out the door with the clipboard.

"Here you are," she presented it to him with a smile and he returned it tenfold.

"Thanks Margaret, you're the best!" he grabbed it from her eagerly and tucked it under his arm as he glued another stick to the tower. "You're on overnight duty tonight, right?"

"Yes," she said, her surprise evident in her voice. She hadn't known he was keeping up with his own schedule, much less hers.

"What do you do when there's no one in post op?" he wondered aloud, his hands continuing their task. She stammered for a few seconds, momentarily surprised that anyone was taking an interest in what she did.

"Well, I'll probably take inventory of the medicine," she responded. "There's usually not enough time to take a full stock, but right now there is so I'll take it. You want to join me?" She realized what she said the moment came from her mouth – or perhaps it was the moment the lecherous grin lit his face. Either way, she adopted a stern expression and shook her head. "Nevermind."

"No, no," he held up his hands. "I'll be good, I swear. As soon as I'm done here tonight I'll head over."

"Good, then I'll inform Major Winchester you've graciously decided to take his shift tonight." The defiant look in his eyes almost made her lose composure, but she checked herself just in time.

"Just a second, Margaret –" The minute he started in on her she lost it and started laughing. He stopped short, realizing he'd been had, and laughed with her. "Very funny, Margaret."

"The look on your face was priceless," she admitted. "Seriously, though, three people is two too many in that small stock room. You don't have to come." He waved her off.

"Nah, that's okay. Tell Charles he's got the night off; I might as well do something productive. What time?"

"Eleven," she replied, congratulating herself on her cunning manipulation. Potter often said getting Hawkeye to do anything was more difficult than milking a bull, and Margaret couldn't disagree. But she'd known and worked with the man for almost two years, and she'd figured out a few tricks.

She turned on her heel and marched off to occupy her time until her shift, and so missed the knowing smile on Hawkeye's face. He watched her triumphant swagger for a second longer than he probably should have, and Father Mulcahy's voice startled him from his staring.

"Anything I can help with?" Hawkeye turned to the priest and smiled charmingly as he held out the report-laden clipboard.

"Yes, as a matter of fact you can, Father. How about you write and I'll glue."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hawkeye worked through lunch, only pausing occasionally to check the sturdiness of the structure. Father Mulcahy had finished writing the names of all the wounded on the depressors, leaving Pierce sitting in the dark with a box full of sticks.

Only when Potter arrived with a late dinner did Hawkeye take a break to eat. It was nearly complete, and as he surveyed his masterpiece he felt a sense of pride for his "casual obsession." Klinger's announcement that the _Stars and Stripes_ was going to do a piece on it only served to further spur the Captain into completing the tower as soon as possible. The chill of the night air forced him to don his bathrobe to stay warm, but he continued to work diligently. Just after midnight, a tap on his shoulder pulled him from his intense focus, and when he turned he found Margaret with her hands on her hips looking rather stern.

"Uh oh," he muttered, realizing he'd totally forgotten his promise to help her.

"Uh oh is right," she said. "Have you been here all day?" Her tone was shrill, a good indicator that he should choose his words carefully.

"Colonel Potter delivered dinner some time ago, and then Klinger told me that a reporter is coming out tomorrow to do a piece on this thing. I guess I just got caught up. Here," he set the glue can down, "let's go do the inventory and I'll come back to this."

"Not a chance," she barked. "We'll do the inventory then you're going to bed."

"Margaret, I'm fine…honest." He knew arguing with her was no use when she was like this, but his willfulness wouldn't let her win that easily.

"And what if we get wounded tomorrow? How 'fine' will you be then? You need rest." Her tone brooked no argument and Pierce sighed. Life, he realized, had been a lot simpler before he'd fallen for Margaret Houlihan.

"You know, you're sexy when you're bossy," he told her with a lascivious smile. She rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile as she grabbed his robe sleeve and pulled him along. "Can't wait to have your way with me?" he continued, earning him a whack on the arm for his troubles. Well, he thought with a shrug, at least life would never be boring.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I still can't believe you blasted your monument into splinters," BJ laughed as they gathered at the bar in the O Club. Hawkeye was enjoying a very dry martini as he regaled the senior staff of his plan.

"Well I couldn't let that louse use my opus as a recruiting piece, could I?"

"Neither you nor Klinger is qualified to use Primacord," Margaret scolded lightly. "What if something had gone wrong?" She tried not to sound too overbearing, but when she'd heard a corporal announce that Captain Pierce was parading across the compound with a roll of high explosives in his hand, she hadn't really thought much of it; he was always coming up with crazy schemes. Then she'd heard the explosion, and her heart had skipped a beat as she'd very nearly sprinted to the courtyard to make sure he was okay.

"It's fine, Major, nothing went wrong," Klinger answered eagerly. "Besides, we are required by Army protocol to dispose of the stuff, and we did." She pressed her lips together firmly but kept quiet, knowing any further conversation on this topic would only serve to aggravate her. Under the bar, Hawkeye let his hand fall to her leg and squeezed lightly, the move somehow both reassuring and apologetic at the same time.

"Well folks," Potter entered the club with a somber look on his face. "I just got word from ICORPS. The fighting in this sector is on again, so we should see some wounded by tomorrow." He sat between Hawkeye and BJ and ordered a shot of whiskey.

"You really know how to kill a mood, you know that?" Hawkeye downed the last of his martini and ordered another one. "How long until they arrive?"

"ICORPS says tomorrow morning," Potter recited.

"Which means later tonight," BJ answered, just as the first sounds of choppers resonated across the camp. "Or now's good, too." They heaved a collective sigh and stood. Corpsman and the first teams were dashing about getting things ready as the doctors divvied up the duties. Just as they were about to part, Hawkeye grabbed Margaret's hand.

"Hey, you know I'd never do something completely stupid, right?" The looks she'd been giving him earlier hadn't gone unnoticed, and he wanted to make sure she knew he wasn't going anywhere.

"I know," she replied. More passed between them than the simple words they spoke, but neither was ready to voice it aloud. Instead, Hawkeye squeezed her hand once and let go, bounding off to help Charles start the nurses on triage while Potter and BJ scrubbed up. Margaret watched him go, her mind reeling with what had just happened.

"Major!" one of her nurses cried out and she switched into "Head Nurse Mode" instantaneously. There would be plenty of time for contemplation later; right now there was work to be done.

* * *

Next up: "That's Show Biz!"


	17. That's Show Biz

"Okay, this is not my fault." Margaret looked up from her book as Pierce stormed into her tent. He paced around like a caged panther, his hands flitting about as he spoke a mile a minute. "You have to believe me when I tell you I did not incite, provoke, or in any way encourage this. As a matter of fact, I wasn't even aware of it until just now, and I came straight here so you could hear it from me."

As he ranted, Margaret calmly closed her book and stood; she found it easiest to wait out the storm than try to stop it mid-thunder. When he finally stopped pacing he turned to find her standing there. She crossed over to him in three steps and grabbed his hands, holding them fast as she stared at him intently. The look in his eyes was unsettling, and she could tell he was one good raving away from hysteria. She waited until she felt his pulse slow before she spoke.

"Now," she said after a calm moment, "what's this about?"

"Marina," Hawkeye admitted. "She's smitten, and I don't know how to get her un-smitten. She seems to think I'm her prince charming come to whisk her away to the castle. Every time I'm in post op she's smiling at me, or complimenting my looks or my skill."

"Yes, I did notice her gazing at you dreamily during the performance," Margaret laughed, releasing his hands. She turned her back to him still smiling, but she didn't have him completely convinced. She'd been hurt in the past by men who'd claimed to love her, though he hadn't yet uttered those three earth-shattering words. His hands came to rest on her shoulders as he drew himself close to her.

"I can't control how she feels," he told her, "but I can control how I feel – and how I act. Do you trust me, Margaret?" She turned toward him to look him in the eye, and his hands shifted from her shoulders to her waist.

"Your honor isn't in question here," she answered immediately. "I know you would never take advantage of a patient like that, even if we weren't…" she trailed off, still unsure as to the definition of their relationship. At his look, she rushed forward. "But you have to be careful here. She's young, and very fragile."

"You didn't answer my question," he responded, his eyes darkening with emotion as he stepped away.

"Don't get defensive," she answered a bit too harshly. "Neither of us can go about casting stones. We've both lived our lives and there's nothing we can do about the past."

"You're really good with the evasive answers today." He was getting worked up again – she could see the agitation in the muscles of his shoulders. But she had never backed down in a fight, and she wasn't going to start now.

"What do you want me to say, Ben? That I trust you wholly and completely? I can't give you an answer because I'm not entirely sure myself. I've been hurt too many times in the past to dive in head first so fast." She knew her words were hurting him – hell, they were killing her to say them – but they needed to get this out in the open and deal with it before they moved any further.

"I would never hurt you, Margaret."

She replied with an empty chuckle and a nod. "I've heard that before," she replied honestly. He stiffened at that and his blue eyes bore into hers with an intensity she'd never seen in him before.

"_Don't,_" he warned in a dangerously low tone. "Don't you dare compare me to Donald, or Frank, or any of the generals that have paraded in and out of your life. You're not some conquest, or a way to kill time, or a trophy to show off to the neighbors. You know I deserve better than that, and it's not fair."

"No, it's not," she agreed evenly. "But I'm not the only one who has a past to contend with. You don't think your excursions with my nurses don't cross my mind from time to time? Or what about Carlye Breslin?" He took a sharp breath and she took a step toward him. "Having all this baggage stinks, it really does. But neither of us would be here if we didn't have it, so we're just going to have to deal with it together." When he didn't move she took another step and reached out for his hand. He slid his into hers easily, and she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"I care a great deal for you, Margaret. I feel…overwhelmed by the force of it, but in a good way you know?"

The barest hint of a smile crept onto his face and she relaxed. "Yes, I do," she said honestly. "We just have to take this thing a day at a time."

"Fine," he pouted playfully. "In the meantime, what do I do about Marina?"

"You could talk to her," she offered, but he shook his head.

"I have a feeling that won't go over very well. I've tried putting her off but she just ignores me and continues to croon over me."

"She's young and you very literally swept her off her feet," Margaret chuckled. "It's a crush, it'll wear off. If not, she'll be gone in a week so what's the harm?" There was a glint in her eye that Hawkeye didn't much like, and he frowned as she ushered him out the door.

"You're going to love this, aren't you?"

"Every minute," she affirmed, raising up on her toes to kiss him quickly before she shoved him out into the compound.

"Oh, don't stop on my account," a sultry voice interrupted Hawkeye just as he turned back to embrace Margaret. Brandy sauntered up to the tent with a bag in hand and a sly little smile on her face. Hawkeye saw the look on Margaret's face and smiled devilishly.

"Well, I guess I'll leave you girls alone. I know how you love to gossip." Margaret swatted his shoulder a little harder than necessary, rolling her eyes as he yelped and rubbed his shoulder as if injured.

"Pierce, get out of here," she ordered lightly. He delivered a sloppy salute and danced off as Brandy sidled her way past Margaret into the tent.

"He's a cutie," the older woman remarked and Margaret sighed.

"It's gonna be a long night," she muttered to no one as she closed the door behind them.

A few days later, Hawkeye had had just about enough of Marina's hero worship. BJ had noticed his friend's tension and alerted Margaret so she could talk to him. After a few minutes of searching, Margaret caught him pacing around the trails behind Rosie's still in his doctor's garb. She stood off at a distance just watching his restless form prowling about. He seemed to be debating something, and every now and then he'd stop for a moment before shaking his head fiercely and resuming his route.

Finally, she couldn't stand his distress anymore and padded softly over to him. He'd stopped again with his back to her, his eyes roving the thick forest just beyond the field in front of him.

"Ben," she called softly, not wanting to startle him. He lifted his head slightly, the only indication he gave that he'd heard her. When she moved to stand next to him, however, he reached out and took her hand.

"I have to talk to her," he said quietly. "It's getting out of hand."

"So you're out here practicing?" she joked lightly, but it fell flat. "It's only going to be harder the longer you wait."

"I know, I'm just trying to figure out what to say. This isn't something I'm familiar with," he admitted. She watched him work things out in his head as she processed his words. Usually, Hawkeye Pierce would be in heaven if a young girl swooned over him. But something in him seemed to have tempered with time and experience, and he was no longer the Casanova he'd been when he'd arrived. Margaret liked to think she had something to do with it, but now was neither the time nor the place for that conversation. Instead, she just gripped his hand tightly as the sound of choppers cut through the silence.

"Looks like I just got a reprieve of sorts," he sighed as he let go of her hand and led their dash back to camp as the ambulance came rolling in.

After ten grueling hours of surgery, Hawkeye stumbled out of the scrub room tiredly. He caught sight of Margaret's blonde head darting around in OR organizing the clean up and marveled briefly at her energy. He could barely shuffle his feet across the floor as he made his way across the compound.

Halfway to the Swamp he stopped and sighed. He always checked on his patients before he hit the sack. It was a routine of his he'd come to crave the longer he was here; he liked being reminded of just why he was enduring this hell day after day.

The phrase "now or never" popped into his head as he eyed the dim lights of post op. Marina would no doubt be sleeping, so Hawkeye redirected his aching feet to take him through the recovery ward. He glanced at the sleeping soldiers as he passed, carefully watching for any signs of distress. Finally, after reassuring himself that no one was in danger, he walked around the divide that separated Marina from the rest of post op.

_Just my luck_, he thought wryly as he caught Marina's smile. It seemed she'd waited up for him and he didn't miss the enamored smile she tossed at him as he smiled back wearily.

"I wanted to see how you were feeling before I went to sleep," he told her. "Did I make it?" He tried to lighten the mood with a joke, but his fatigue interfered with his humor. Instead of cutting the tension, however, his presence seemed to only increase it.

"You're sweet to take such good care of me, Hawkeye." Her voice held nothing but adoration, and he stifled a groan as he realized he was going to have to bite the bullet sometime. He grabbed the nearest stool and eased down onto it with a humorless smile.

"That's one of the things I wanted to talk to you about," he told her. "The travel restrictions have been lifted; your friends are going to the 121st EVAC tomorrow morning. You'll be able to join them." He watched her carefully and saw immediately the effect his words had on her.

"But I'm not well enough yet," she protested softly.

"Yeah, you are," he shot back a little harshly. "I wouldn't send you if you weren't ready to go. But if it'll make you feel any better you can take the rest of your medicine in a doggie bag." Once again his joke fell flat as Marina sat up in bed.

"Do I really have to go?" She sounded so sad and Hawkeye kicked himself for letting her innocent attraction go this far.

"We have this whole new batch of wounded who are taking numbers for beds," he reasoned. _Yeah, hide behind medicine_, he berated himself silently.

"Well, I can stay in the VIP tent. I'd be out of everybody's way there, and still near you." She tried a charming smile that might have worked on him a year ago.

"What do you mean?" he asked softly, trying so hard not to crush this sweet young girl in front of him.

"Well," she gave a soft laugh, "you are my doctor." He tried to think of something to say, anything to stop her adulation, but she beat him to it. "Hawkeye," she crooned, and he was stupid enough to look up into her doe eyes. "I'd love to get to know you when I'm healthy." The implication didn't go unnoticed and Hawkeye found himself feeling flattered and overwhelmed. The combination was enough to get him fidgeting and he adjusted his seat a few times as he cleared his throat.

"Yeah, um, that's another reason I think it'd be a good idea if you went." Her face morphed from hopefully to heartbroken in an instant, and Hawkeye steeled himself against his first instinct to comfort her.

"But why?" Her eyes dropped from his in a moment of uncertainty. "I thought…I thought you cared for me."

"I do," he answered immediately, cursing his instincts even as the words flew from his mouth. "Of course I care, so does everybody," he covered quickly, adding some quick praise about her work with the wounded.

"That's not what I'm talking about," she told him firmly, and he could see she was getting upset. "You mean a great deal to me." It was time to get things straightened out, and he adopted his best no-nonsense tone.

"You don't even know me," he countered.

"I know enough," she shot right back.

"Marina, when you came here, you were sick," he returned as he remembered Margaret's words. "I literally swept you off your feet! All you see is a miracle man in a white suit." She scoffed at him then, her tone rising in distress.

"No! Come on, Hawkeye, I'm not a kid. I see who you really are." She laid the charm on again and he decided to play his hand straight.

"All you've seen is the bedside of my manner – you haven't seen the bad side. The real Hawkeye Pierce is an egotistical, irresponsible martini guzzler." She shook her head and he sighed heavily. It was time to bring out the big guns.

"There is someone here, someone I care for very much, who has seen me at my worst and still she…" he trailed off, realizing he didn't really know if Margaret loved him or not. It didn't matter right now, not to him. All that mattered was that Margaret had chosen to let him in, and he wasn't going to destroy that trust for anything in the world. He could literally see Marina's heart breaking as she realized she'd been chasing an impossible dream, and he apologized with a look he'd perfected on terminal patients. Sometimes, letting them know was the hardest part, but in the end it was best for the patient.

"It's Margaret, isn't it," Marina laid back down on her cot dejectedly. "I caught the looks you were sharing at the performance, and the way your eyes sparkled when she got up to sing with Sarah."

"We've both seen too much to ever be as innocent and wide-eyed as you again. We hold each other up, comfort each other. We're friends and something more I can't describe." Looking at Hawkeye's face as he spoke about the nurse, Marina realized she'd been fighting a futile battle. Hawkeye was never hers for the taking, nor was he even available. Margaret had his heart, even if neither of them knew it yet.

"Do you love her?" It was a simple question, and yet the most complex one he'd ever been asked. He thought for a moment before running a tired hand down his face.

"I think I could love her, yes, if she'll let me." At Marina's confused look, he clarified. "We're both…damaged. This war has embittered us and left us wandering in a world where men deal in death and blood. We found each other, and I'm not letting her go until she tells me to. She grounds me and keeps the nightmares at bay, and there's nothing I wouldn't do to spare her pain. Is that love?"

"The best part," Marina smiled sadly. "You should tell her." Hawkeye patted the girl on the hand and stood.

"You just rest, Yenta. I'm gonna go catch some z's." His face split open in a yawn as he leaned back to stretch a particularly painful kink in his spine. Marina grabbed his hand just before he stepped out of reach, and he looked down on her with worry.

"You tell Major Houlihan from me that she's a damn lucky woman. And if things don't work out between you…" Marina's coy smile didn't fool him, and he chuckled at her attempt to clear the air between them. He squeezed the young girl's hand affectionately.

"You go home and try out for musicals, dazzle young, starving actors with your charm and knock 'em dead." She settled back down into her blankets and smiled sleepily at him as he walked away. He'd come here intending to solve a problem and here he was walking away with a whole new one – how to tell Margaret he loved her without ruining whatever it was that was brewing between them.

He knew from experience she was gun shy when dealing with real, honest feeling; hell, he wasn't much better himself when it came to uttering those three little words. He wrote them down all the time in the letters to his dad back home, signing his name beneath a hastily scrawled "All my love." But this was different – monumentally different – and he had no intention of screwing anything up by rushing into it.

He stumbled into the Swamp and onto his cot without so much as a grunt of hello to the other two surgeons in the tent. BJ was already snoring loudly from his face down position and Charles was buried underneath his eye mask and several blankets. Hawkeye slipped his boots off and had only a split second to start formulating a plan before his mind shut down and he drifted off into his dreams.

* * *

Next up: "Birthday Gifts"


	18. Birthday Gifts

"Mail call, oh maestros of medicine," Klinger doled out envelopes to the officers at the table as they ate their morning meal. Gruel was ignored in favor of news from home, and the next few seconds were filled with the sound of paper being ripped open and letters unfolded.

"Hey, my dad sent me pictures from his birthday party!" Hawkeye pulled out some snapshots and passed them around. Margaret grabbed them from his hand and passed them to BJ without looking at them, her eyes trained on the letter in her hand.

"Wow, that must be some letter," BJ laughed. Margaret clutched the paper to her chest and shot him a glare.

"Mind your own business," she snapped. BJ shot Hawkeye a quizzical glance over her back, but the other surgeon just shrugged.

"Oh come on, Margaret, who's it from?" Hawkeye inquired. It took everything he had not to peer over her shoulder, but from his vantage point the handwriting looked male.

"It's from General Heizer, an old friend of my father's."

"General Doug Heizer, from the Army Corps of Engineers?" Colonel Potter piped up. "I knew him back in my days as a Captain. Real classy guy, always kept an eye out for his men."

"Yes, he says he'll be in Tokyo this weekend and wonders if I can come see him. Oh Colonel, could I?" She looked pleadingly at her commanding officer and he chuckled.

"Rein in the bottom lip, Major, a three day pass is yours." Margaret grinned from ear to ear as she finished her letter. Hawkeye returned to his a bit more tense than when he'd left it. Margaret's birthday was on Friday and he'd wanted to surprise her with a gift. He also thought it would be a great opportunity to tell her about his feelings, but now that she was going to Tokyo with "Doug the classy general", he would have to rethink his plans.

"That's not fair to her," BJ told him after Hawkeye bared his thoughts later in the Swamp. "She's proven to you that she's over her thing with Generals. Look at what happened when General Weiskopf came through." Hawkeye remembered last year when the man had all but promised Margaret a promotion if she slept with him, and how proud he'd been when she turned the man down.

"Yeah, I just wanted to do something special for her on her birthday; at least throw her a party!" He was pacing now, but BJ just went back to darning his socks.

"So go talk to her. At least she'll know you were thinking about her." Hawkeye stopped and stared at his friend, smiling at the man's wisdom.

"Never let it be said that you are not wise to the ways of women," he complimented before he walked out the door.

Margaret was packing when the knock came on her door. She knew who it was immediately and braced herself for the "debate" that was about to take place. Hawkeye was notoriously distrustful of her and her relationships with powerful men, but she'd thought he'd learned his lesson.

When she opened the door he stepped in quickly more out of habit than necessity. Neither of them was ashamed of their relationship, nor had any intention of trying to sneak around futilely. Instead, they decided to be discreet but not secretive, and it seemed to have worked out so far.

"I expected a visit from you," she told him as they sat on the bed.

"Yeah? So you're psychic now, huh?" His tone was more playful than malicious, so she let his sarcasm slide.

"Maybe a little," she shrugged. "So what did you need?"

"I thought you knew that already," he joked, and she rolled her eyes humorlessly. "Okay, I just wanted to tell you to have a good time in Tokyo. I wanted to throw you a party Friday night, but I guess spending time with family is important, too." She was stunned into silence by his words.

"You know my birthday?" It wasn't exactly the response he was hoping for, but he smiled anyway.

"It crossed my path the last time I was pay officer." She held his gaze for a second longer than normal, trying to find something in his eyes. When she didn't, she shook her head and went back to packing. "You thought I would be upset that you're spending the weekend with General Heizer."

"Now who's psychic," she gibed. "Okay, I'll admit, it did cross my mind. You're not exactly the most rational person either of us knows."

"BJ talked some sense into me before I could work myself into a froth. But if you'd like, I can go froth up and come back." He waggled his eyebrows at her playfully, then dodged quickly as she chucked a shirt at him. "That's a no, then?" Another article of clothing was tossed, and he caught the ball of socks before they connected with his head. He grabbed the shirt from where it had fallen on the floor and folded it up before placing both in her duffel.

"Just be careful," he told her seriously. Neither of them needed reminding of what happened the last time one of them had gone on R&R. Margaret doubted her jeep would stall out and lead to her capture by the enemy, but she didn't want to chance it.

"I will," she promised. "Anyway, Klinger promised to take me to Tokyo, so I won't be going alone." He nodded in approval – though she didn't need it – and lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles.

"Then I shall leave milady to finish packing." He moved to the door, turning to shoot one more gibe at her. "Oh, if anything comes up missing, it wasn't my idea." And he was gone, narrowly missing the shoe that was tossed his way. She huffed as she stomped over to retrieve it, but found herself chuckling at his antics.

Three days later, Margaret was packed and ready to go. Charles had graciously agreed to cover her lecture; she would have asked Hawkeye but Colonel Potter informed her that it had to be delivered by someone who held a rank higher than field officer. As she corralled Klinger into the jeep she couldn't help noticing the crowd of people dashing past.

Klinger was loading her luggage into the jeep at a snail's pace, and she squirmed in her seat as Hawkeye rushed past.

"Hey, what's all the commotion?" Klinger asked the doctor. Margaret felt Hawkeye's hand brushed her shoulder as he stopped next to the jeep.

"Oh nothing serious, we're just having a cow." His flippant attitude wasn't lost on her; the more jovial he was, the more he was hiding. He was gone before she could say anything, and Klinger made a fuss as he climbed reluctantly into the jeep. As they drove out of camp, Margaret caught Hawkeye's gaze from the makeshift stable. He allowed his worry to show through for the briefest of moments, then it was gone again. She tried to convey reassurance through her eyes, but she wasn't sure it got past her fear of being late to the airport. He turned away first, presumably when BJ had to get his attention for the cow, and Margaret was left watching his back fade into the distance.

"Figures," she muttered hours later, stuck in the middle of nowhere with Klinger and a dead jeep. At least they were in friendly territory, but that was the only thing going their way. Since she'd decided to take the "short cut," no one would be traveling by any time soon. And with twilight already falling, there was no way to get back to the main road in time to hitch a ride.

"Look, there's some blankets in the back. Stretch out here and try to get some sleep. I'll keep watch." She knew Klinger was trying to be nice to her since it was her birthday, but she didn't feel in a celebratory mood.

"I'm the officer here, not you. I'll be giving the orders," she snapped. He sighed and nodded as he stuck his head back under the jeep. Both of them knew it was pointless – the jeep wasn't going anywhere except on a tow truck – but she found herself appreciating his attempt to give her space. She walked to the storage area and extracted a thick wool blanket from the space. The front seats weren't an ideal place to sleep, but it beat the rocks on the ground.

She laid down and closed her eyes, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. She refused to cry in front of an enlisted man, but with his nose and the rest of his face under the jeep he was unlikely to notice her faux pas. As she listened to the sound of him tinkering around, she wished it were Hawkeye here with her; he was good at keeping her mind off of danger, as well as making her feel better. She idly wondered what he was doing right now.

Hawkeye was grinning ear to ear as he and BJ entered the swamp. He'd never delivered a calf before, and he was feeling euphoric as they got ready for bed.

"Wasn't that amazing, Beej? Just, _floom_, and she was out. God, she was gorgeous."

"She's a little too young for you, Hawk," BJ shot back with a smirk. Hawkeye tossed his uniform jacket onto his footlocker and sat on his bunk to take off his shoes.

"Fine, joke all you want, but I am going to sleep tonight celebrating the miracle of life. I wonder who won the pool?" He laid back on his bunk as BJ hit the light. Seconds later he jumped out of bed and yanked on the light cord. "Oh my God, Beej…Klinger never came back." He slipped his feet into his boots and ran out the door before BJ could even get out of bed.

"Colonel Potter!" Hawkeye yelled, pounding on his CO's door. "Colonel!"

"What's the racket, Pierce?" the man asked bleary-eyed as he opened the door in his robe.

"Klinger never came back from Kempo, which means he never got to Kempo, which means he and Margaret are stranded out there somewhere!" The panic in Hawkeye's eyes would have been funny if he weren't so distraught.

"Simmer down," Potter laid a hand on his arm. "Kempo called this evening and said they're having a temporary layover of all personnel. Some dignitary is visiting and no one is allowed in _or out_ till he leaves tomorrow morning. They probably got there before it went into effect, and Klinger's stuck till tomorrow."

"I'd like to call Tokyo, make sure Margaret got there."

Potter shook his head. "No, sir," he commanded. "The last thing you need to do is go checking up on her every time she steps a toe out of camp. Just let her be, Pierce. She'll be back on Sunday." BJ had arrived by this time and clapped his friend on the shoulder.

"Come on, we've had a full day. Get some rest, and you can call her tomorrow." Potter shot Hunnicutt a warning look, but the taller man shrugged. "It's her birthday tomorrow, Colonel. Surely you wouldn't deny her friends a chance to tell her happy birthday." Being the experienced man he was, Potter knew when he was beat.

"Alright, but not until tomorrow afternoon. And that's my final word," he held up a finger in warning before retreating back into his tent. BJ led Hawkeye back to the Swamp and settled him back down.

"I just can't shake this feeling like something's wrong, Beej," he told his friend.

"Believe it or not, that's pretty normal. When Peg and I first started dating seriously, I used to get this empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. Of course, I'd call her and she'd tell me to stop worrying so much and that I needed to find a hobby."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, so I took up doctoring and here I am," he jested. "Remind me to thank her when I get home."

Hawkeye rolled over onto his side to gaze out across the camp.

"Night Beej."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Are you alright?" he asked Margaret as the officers filed out of the mess tent after lunch. Her uniform was askew and her hair a mess, but she plastered a smile onto her face and hooked her arm through his.

"I'm perfectly fine," she returned. "I called Doug and he understands. I'll see him stateside when this whole damn war is over. How did things go here?" He started walking in no particular direction, his mind momentarily stunned at her blatant show of affection.

"Good, things here were good. That Levafet we got in did the trick, and she delivered on her own. It was amazing…I wish you could have been here." The grin on his face lightened her heart.

"You trading in your MD for a DVM?" she elbowed him in the ribs and he laughed.

"Nah, I enjoy the human body too much," he returned lewdly. She rolled her eyes at his comment, but grinned anyway. "Have you seen her yet? She's still in the stables, come on." He dragged her across the camp over to the three-walled structure where the calf was suckling on her mother's utter.

"Oh, she's a dear," Margaret knelt down and stroked the thick fur of the baby cow. The mother turned her head to inspect the newcomers, but when no threat was detected she returned to chewing cud. "Did the farmer name her yet?"

"He named her Gijeok. It's Korean for 'miracle.' This little girl almost didn't make it, and neither did her mother. That Levafet saved both of them." Hawkeye watched her fawn over the calf and smiled to himself.

"It was a lucky thing you were here to administer it," she commended. She petted the calf for a few more minutes, laughing as the animal drank on obliviously.

"You done?" he asked anxiously, and only at that moment did she realize Hawkeye had been acting strangely.

"You've been awfully jumpy today. You wouldn't be planning anything, would you?" She rose to her feet and eyed him warily as he held up his hands defensively.

"Me, planning something? How dare you make such an accusation!" he cried melodramatically. Then his voice dropped and he plastered a mischievous grin on his face. "Just because it's your birthday, you think I'm planning something?" She waited a beat before he dropped his hands in defeat. "Yes I am. BJ and I are throwing a party in your honor." She pressed her lips together firmly, and he read the disapproval on her face. "You don't like parties?"

"It's just another excuse for the camp to cause a raucous and dive headfirst into debauchery," she repeated the same spiel from the night before. "If it weren't my birthday, another meaningless holiday would work the same."

"Ah," he held up a finger to forestall her protest, "but it isn't a meaningless holiday. I managed to sneak a peek at your file. You are 30 this year, my dear Margaret, and that is what we call a milestone."

She stormed over and grabbed his sleeve roughly. "Don't go spreading it around, Pierce," she hissed.

"Don't worry," he assuaged her, removing her clenched fist from his arm and interlacing their fingers. "It's just a small gathering of your closest friends; me, BJ, Colonel Potter, and Charles. We've reserved the Officers' Club for the evening, and Klinger agreed to be our bartender d'jour." Margaret's stance relaxed considerably as she realized he hadn't invited the entire camp.

"Thank you," her tone was genuine as she let him lead her away from the stable. "What time?"

"Five o'clock," he responded. "Don't ask me what that is in military time; I still haven't got the hang of it."

"It's not that hard, Hawkeye, if it's after noon you just add twelve. Now, for instance, it's almost thirteen hundred hours." She knew he was just being obstinate, but also knew he couldn't resist his little revolutions every now and then. A couple years ago, she would never have guessed she'd be running around with a man as un-military as Hawkeye Pierce. He had shown up headstrong and railing against everything she stood for – order, discipline, regulations – and yet he'd tempered quite a bit from the unruly malcontent he had been when Trapper was here. She often wondered if BJ had something to do with his mellowing, but didn't dwell too much on it.

"What are you thinking about?" his voice cut through her thoughts and she was brought back to the present.

"Oh, nothing really. Just reminiscing on our first few weeks here. We were such different people then."

Hawkeye nodded in agreement. "I know. I often imagine stepping off the plane and walking toward my dad, only to have him not recognize me at all." His face was serious, and she felt a twinge of emotion at the slight distress tone.

"You and your father are very close, Ben. Besides – and do not let this run away with your ego – you're pretty unforgettable." He puffed up proudly, and she laughed at his histrionics as he strutted about. "Sometimes, that's not a good thing, Pierce," she added, wagging her finger at him.

"You really know how to wound a guy where it hurts," he said dejectedly. "But yeah, Dad's great. I remember after mom was gone, he let me skip school once a semester and we just went out and had a father/son day. We would go catch a ballgame in the city, or take a three day camping trip, just something away from home that was just the two of us." She watched his face light up as he talked about his dad, and she felt sad. Her father was proud of her – he'd told her as much earlier that year – but the relationship Hawkeye had with his father was easily enviable.

"I'd like for you to meet him," Hawkeye said finally. Her surprise must have been in her face because he continued quickly before she could interrupt. "I'd like for him to meet all of you; you've all come to mean so much to me." She knew his words were a cover for something deeper, but she wasn't ready to pry for more just yet. "I'm gonna go make sure everything's ready for tonight. I'll see you at seventeen hundred hours." He winked at her and dashed away, leaving her grinning in his wake.

At sixteen fifty, Margaret fluffed her hair one more time as a knock resounded on her door. Hawkeye stepped inside without invitation, and he leaned against the frame as he watched her getting ready. She ignored him for the time being, but felt his eyes following her as she moved to and fro. Finally, when everything was perfect, she turned toward him.

"Enjoying the show?" she raised her eyebrows inquisitively, and he grinned back at her.

"Always," he pushed himself away from the frame and took two steps toward her. "I have three gifts for you tonight," he told her, and she couldn't help the smile that broke out on her face. She loved receiving gifts, and loved even more that he thought so much of her.

"Three?" He leaned forward and captured her lips in a kiss. His hands splayed across her lower back as she gripped his lapels and tugged him closer. When they pulled apart he lifted his head and kissed her forehead softly.

"One," he whispered and stepped away. "Ready?" She took his proffered arm and let him lead her out the door and across the compound. As they entered the Officers' Club she was surprised to see the senior staff already there and mingling just as they would any other night. The only difference was the small pile of packages on the end of the bar.

When they walked in BJ stood and beckoned them over, drawing everyone's attention to her. She was wished a happy birthday by everyone as she and Hawkeye sat down at the large center table. Klinger dropped a glass of scotch in front of her and winked as he darted around delivering drinks and refilling chip bowls.

For almost an hour it was like any other gathering; BJ or Hawkeye would regale them with entertaining tales of their schooling – complete with acerbic gibes from Charles. Colonel Potter would tell stories from his happier times in his early years as an Army doctor, and Margaret found herself more in awe of the man she'd come to consider a second father.

"Alright, I think it's time for the birthday girl to open her presents," Hawkeye stood and walked to the bar to gather up the carefully wrapped packages. Margaret unwrapped each one with care, making sure to thank the giver heartily as her gifts piled up beside her. BJ had gotten her a winter coat from the Sears catalog, the one he and Hawkeye had sported last winter. She smiled as she remembered the rant she'd gone on when she found out she couldn't get one until _next_ winter.

Next was Charles, who had gotten her a set of records for her phonograph. She found some classical ones she was sure he would like more than she, as well as some newer rock albums Hawkeye and BJ eyed with glee.

Colonel Potter – with the help of Klinger – had put together a picture album of the entire camp, including some of people long gone. She thanked them both with tears in her eyes before she reached for the last gift - Hawkeye's. Their relationship wasn't secret, just discreet, but it was still a shock when she ripped the wrapping away to find a slender black jewelry box. Inside was an exquisite silver bracelet adorned with various stones.

"It's all of our birthstones," he elaborated as she carefully extracted the delicate piece from its foam protection.

"It's beautiful, Ben, thank you." He smiled at her and took it, gently fastening it around her right wrist. He kissed her hand quickly, but didn't let go as he let their intertwining fingers drop between them. The others felt a bit awkward at witnessing such a tender moment, but BJ broke the tension as he clapped his hands together once.

"And now, the song." Klinger had disappeared momentarily, but reappeared holding a rather lopsided cake with three candles burning brightly on top. As her friends began a chorus of "Happy Birthday" she locked eyes with Hawkeye. BJ was leading the song with gusto, and she'd fully expected Hawkeye to be backing him up loudly. But his voice was soft as he gripped her hand firmly, his eyes shining with an emotion she couldn't define.

"Blow out the candles, Margaret," Colonel Potter seemed eager to dive into the cake, and she obliged by taking a deep breath. The candles extinguished immediately and her friends clapped as she divvied out the pieces. It was awful, but she'd expected nothing else, and nobody ate more than one or two obligatory bites before discarding their plates.

"Well, as much fun as I've had at this shindig, I think I'm going to hit the sack." BJ helped Klinger clean up as Charles made a hasty exit, but not before wishing Margaret a happy birthday once again. Potter did the same and disappeared out the door after him.

"You alright, Beej?" Hawkeye tossed their uneaten cake in the trash as BJ wiped down the bar.

"Yeah, Klinger and I will be fine. You go on." Hawkeye flashed his friend a grateful smile and helped Margaret gather up her gifts.

"Shall we be off, milady?" he gave a short bow and she rolled her eyes good-humoredly. With his arms laden he still managed to open the door for her, though she had to manage her tent door for him. He deposited her things onto her bed upon her instruction and turned to exit.

"Wait," her voice stopped him and he braced himself. Taking a deep, cleansing breath he turned around to face her with a smile on his face.

"Does my lady wish more of me?" he asked in a stuffy Shakespearean lilt, though somehow he still managed to sound racy.

"No it's not that, it's just…" she trailed off, unsure of how to ask her question without sounding greedy.

"Ah," Hawkeye dropped his accent, "you want your third gift. How silly of me to forget."

"It's not that I'm not absolutely flattered by the bracelet, it means a great deal to me. It's just you've gotten me wondering." She tried to sound as casual as possible, but her curiosity was getting the better of her. She watched him take another deep breath and quickly wondered what could have him so worked up.

"Perhaps you'd better sit down," he told her, gesturing toward the bed. She shoved the presents aside gently and perched on the edge, watching as he shoved his hand into his pocket. She felt her heart quickening, but dismissed the immediate thought that popped into her head. There was absolutely no way he was about to do what she thought he was.

"Margaret, I think you know you mean a great deal to me. Over the past years, we've become colleagues, friends, lovers." He said the last word with such emotion that Margaret almost forgot how often that epithet was applied to Hawkeye. _That's not fair_, she scolded herself, _he's proved to you he's changed_. They hadn't done anything more than steal kisses since that one night of intimacy months ago, but she thought about it often. The sheer fact that he hadn't pushed her for anything more was proof enough for her that he was making a serious effort, and she felt her heartbeat quicken at the thought.

"Margaret?" his voice pulled her from her inner monologue and she shook her head clear.

"I'm sorry, Hawkeye. Go on." He looked warily at her, but continued anyway.

"Do you remember that night in that hut, when you told me what Donald had done?" She nodded shallowly, her heart pounding at the remembrance of heartache. "It killed me, Margaret." He pulled his hand from his pocket, and she realized it was clenched into a fist. He was nervous, and probably scared, but he carried on anyway. "You were in pain, and I tried to help you. But in the end, I just made things worse. I was just…so scared of losing someone that I never let anyone that close to me after Carlye." The walls were down now, and she could see the rawness of truth in his eyes. She stood to meet him in the middle, grabbing his hand to give him strength as he struggled to continue.

"I was wrong that night," he told her, and her confusion was evident on her face. He lifted one hand to cup her cheek as he elaborated. "I told you that nothing could ever come of us because we're so different. But I think it's those differences that make us work. You've become so much more to me than a friend, than a lover. We've been through so much together, and we're both better for it. You've yelled at me when I needed it and comforted me when I didn't want it. You are my constant; without you, I would be lost."

For a moment she said nothing as she stared into his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something else when she felt her knees give out. Luckily she was next to him and he snaked an arm around her waist as her vision blurred and she slumped against him.

"Margaret? Are you alright?" He led her back to the bed and sat her down gently.

"Yes, I just…" she trailed off, uncertain how to respond to his heady declaration.

"I wanted today to be special – to be a day you'd always remember." He stood up tall and ran his knuckles lovingly down her face. "You don't have to say anything, Margaret. You've had a rough couple of days and you should rest." He kissed her forehead gently and cleared away her gifts so she could lie down.

"Ben?" her soft voice called out as he extinguished her lamp. He felt his way to the bed and grasped her outstretched hand.

"Today was the perfect birthday. Thank you." He smiled down at her, even though she couldn't see, and squeezed her hand.

"Goodnight, Margaret."

"Goodnight, Ben."

* * *

Next up: "Where There's a Will, There's a War"


End file.
